Angel
by Greenlips24
Summary: This is a modern AU story. Sometimes, fate intervenes when you least expect it. (This is an extension of a two part story originally published under "Infirmary Talks.")
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **The first half of this story was posted under "Infirmary Talks," but people seemed keen for me to continue with Athos and Ninon's story. It obviously doesn't belong where I originally posted it now, so I have doubled its size and cut it into chapters. Apologies for those who have already read the first part, but I hope you like where the story goes.

oOo

**ANGEL **

**Part One**

**Chapter One**

The public address system announced the arrival of the Amsterdam flight into Charles de Gaulle airport. There was a flurry of activity as people began to pour through into the arrivals lounge.

"Captain," Porthos smiled as he saw Athos approaching, backpack slung on his shoulder, while wheeling a small case behind him.

"You reminisce," Athos smiled, as he accepted the hug.

"You bet I do," Porthos said, pulling away and casting a critical eye over his former Captain. "They were good times."

"Some of them," Athos murmured, always surprised by Porthos's ability to not only wear rose-coloured spectacles, but to see through them.

"Aramis is still in the air," Porthos was saying, breaking him from his reverie. "We've got a little time to kill."

They had all served in the army together, but that was some years ago now. They had forged their own careers since; Athos, as a diamond merchant, sourcing stones for wealthy clients, which took him all over the world, with Amsterdam as his base. Aramis, as a New York paediatrician, having extended his training from trauma into a speciality that was close to his heart after fathering a child on a tour of Asia, where he had met a beautiful Japanese woman whom he had loved with a passion but who was, sadly, unattainable. Porthos had a successful chain of gyms in London and Los Angeles and a reputation as a personal trainer in California that had made him wealthy in his own right.

However successful they were though, they were brothers first and foremost and did all they could to maintain their close bond. Porthos had worked hard to build his business and for the first time in the last year, he was looking relaxed and happy.

"You are looking well, my friend," Athos said, gently, in an attempt to forestall Porthos's usual critique.

"I'm feelin' good. It's goin' well," Porthos replied, grabbing Athos's back pack and throwing it over his shoulder. "You don't look so bad yourself," he added, side-glancing his friend. "You could do with a hair-cut, mind."

Athos huffed. He had got away lightly, it seemed.

"Much of my work is done on-line and by phone. On the occasions I have to step out, I am always surprised by my failure to realise I have let myself go, somewhat," Athos replied, running a hand absently through his long hair.

"Well, that can be rectified," Porthos laughed, pointing across the concourse to a barber's shop, set next to an Italian coffee outlet.

Porthos caught his friend looking longingly at the large coffee menu on display.

"You go get settled in there," he laughed, "And I'll get us a coffee. Aramis isn't due for a couple of hours. I've already hired a car."

"I suppose there is no point in arguing?" Athos replied. He rather liked his hair longer, though his beard had grown a little too full for his liking. He resisted the urge to scratch it.

"None whatsoever, you look like a Yeti," Porthos growled. "You won't charm the ladies lookin' like that."

Athos did not respond. That would be the least of his ambitions, Porthos knew, but he never gave up trying to find someone to replace his friend's treacherous wife. Undeterred, Porthos grabbed Athos's suitcase and steered his friend toward the Turkish barber who was keenly eyeing him up and already reaching for his implements.

oOo

Two hours later, Porthos and a newly-but-not-too-shorn Athos waited in arrivals for their friend's plane to deliver its passengers.

"You smell nice," Porthos whispered to Athos, as tired passengers began to pour through the doors ahead of them.

"Behave yourself," Athos growled, which made Porthos roar with laughter, though he did not tell Porthos he had bought a bottle of the fragrance Yussuf had applied after he had finished cutting and shaping his beard.

It was the sound of their large friend's laughter that guided Aramis eagerly toward them from behind a straggle of families with grouchy children, and students plugging themselves into their mobile phones.

Suddenly Aramis was in front of them, beaming from ear to ear.

"Gentleman!" he cried. "I believe Paris awaits!"

"Where is the house exactly?" Porthos said after disentangling himself from the requisite group hug.

"Rue Ferou.* Within a few steps from the Luxembourg Gardens. Beautiful, serene and historic," Athos replied, holding out his hand for the key to the hire car.

"I'll drive," Porthos said, fishing for the keys.

When he looked up, Athos was giving him _that _look, with a raised eyebrow to boot.

"_Drive_ is not a word I would use. _Lurch_, perhaps," Athos replied, firmly.

"That's 'ow the Army taught me," Porthos growled. "It's a technique to save fuel. Foot on, foot off."

"The technique does not translate from Army vehicles to modern saloons. It is uncomfortable, and I doubt it saves petrol. You have a heavy foot, my friend," Athos replied, icily.

Aramis was trying not to laugh as Porthos reluctantly dropped the keys into his friend's outstretched palm. The three of them headed out of the airport to make a grocery stop before making their way to the house that would be their home for the next five days.

oOo

Arriving in one piece a little while later, Porthos dropped his bag on the floor of his room with a sigh and practically fell backwards onto the bed. Spread-eagled, he felt every muscle in his back loosen. Being a personal trainer was all very well, but being as busy as he had been had put a lot of strain on his muscles. However, he was loathe to pass his work onto his staff, as he was in that place where he was now being asked for personally. He couldn't afford to turn work down, nor not look in the best shape he could.

Before he could drift off, he rolled off the bed and grabbed a shower. Changing into a fresh tee shirt and a pair of new tracksuit bottoms, he headed downstairs to the kitchen, where he had dropped off their groceries.

The house was beautiful, of course; Athos had chosen it.

Different to his own choice on their previous break, which had them inhabiting a traditional finca cave in Valencia. Albeit furnished and spacious, it was windowless and so still too enclosed for their former Captain, who had decamped to a hotel after four days of _really_ trying.

Aramis was a sun-worshipper and so his choice always involved water, boats and sun-loungers, but he always ensured there was a good hotel nearby with a well-stocked bar.

Now they sat in the pretty, enclosed garden at the rear of the three-storey traditional house, beneath an old pear tree, drinking wine and tucking into the excellent meal that Porthos had prepared.

"I saw a sign for a market a couple of streets back," Porthos was saying as he dished out a second helping of lasagne for Athos, whether he wanted it or not. His friend needed fattening up, in his honest opinion. "I'll head out in the mornin' and get us some fresh bread."

"Don't we have enough food to last a month?" Athos smiled into his glass.

"For you, perhaps," Aramis laughed. "Some of us have appetites. Personally, it feels like I have lived on army rations for a month."

"Don't they feed you doctors, then?" Porthos said, pasta-coated spoon poised in mid-air.

"They do. But the food reflects the country we are working in, and, as you both know, some parts of Africa are better than others."

They fell silent then. Aramis had been doing some pro-bono work for a few weeks every year in some of the poorest regions for a few years now, before returning to his role in the children's ward of a large New York hospital. It was the contrast between the client-base of the two that had driven Aramis to his altruism.

They had all worked in Africa when in the military and were well aware of what Aramis had been facing.

Athos raised his glass.

"A toast, Gentlemen. To us. May we all find what we are looking for."

"At least during this break," Porthos added, as they all clinked glasses.

As the streets grew quiet behind the high walls, sleep tugged at them and eventually they all said their good nights and retired to their respective rooms.

As it turned out, it was to be a prophetic toast.

**To be continued ...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Over the next few days, it became Porthos's tradition to head off to the market for fresh bread every day. By the third day, they had settled into a relaxing regime of good food, excellent wine, art galleries, theatre and walks in the late Spring sun.

On the fourth morning, Porthos had already headed out when Athos decided to go in search of coffee. They had depleted their store in just three days and there were a few neighbourhood outlets which emitted some very enticing aromas.

Stopping off to buy a paper, he tucked it under his arm when he spotted a familiar figure heading away from him down an alley across the road. Making his way across the street, he ducked into the alley, but if it was Porthos, he was gone. There was an obvious dog-leg turn up ahead and without knowing where the alley led, he turned back.

A few moments later, he felt someone grab his shoulder and spin him around. Caught off guard, he dropped his paper as he was pushed into the wall, under the glare of two hooded strangers. There was no-one else around, the bend in the alley had not only hidden his attacker's approach, but shielded them from view from that end. Athos took a step to the right, to bring them out of the shadows and into the patch of sunlight that fell on the entrance of the alley.

In doing so, the two lunged.

oOo

Running an exasperated hand through her long hair, the woman sighed as she fought to keep her temper.

"Surely you don't need me to tell you how to negotiate, Bertrand!"

Absorbed in the frustrating conversation with her business partner, she slowed to a halt on the pavement, resisting the urge to stamp her foot in fury. She rarely lost her temper but this was too much. She had been working on this for months and it was slipping away from her. Tossing her hair back, something caught her eye across the road.

Two men; no, three, and the glint of something in the sunlight. Two of the men were wearing grey sweatshirts, with the hoods pulled up, which was unusual in the Spring sunshine. She watched carefully as the man they seemed to be targetting initially stood his ground, before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and handing something over.

Bertrand was still talking but she had ceased to listen. A man was being robbed in broad daylight. In her neighbourhood, no less!

Whatever was handed over was quickly grabbed by one of the hooded men, but the other one now reached for the man's wristwatch.

It was then that the man exploded into action.

Pulling his hand back, he threw a powerful punch which sent the thief reeling backward. In doing so, though, he had left himself open and the other thief delivered a blow to his left side, before grabbing his companion. At that point, as the man doubled over, the woman turned her phone on them and shouted, as she took a photo of the scene unfolding in front of her. Not only that, but she began to run across the street, punching in the emergency number as she ran.

Her furious cries were drawing attention and the two thugs decided it was time to go, heading back up the alley and disappearing around the corner.

The man looked up, startled to see the fierce, blonde vision coming toward him, her hair backlit by the sun. It took his breath away. He was just wondering how it was possible for her to move in slow motion, when suddenly, the alley tilted violently and his legs gave way.

She reached him as he slid down, coming to rest upright with his back to the wall; one leg bent beneath the other. She was talking, but he couldn't make out her words.

His eyes strayed down to his wrist and he sighed in relief.

His watch was still there.

oOo

With the phone clamped to her ear, she knelt in front of him.

He was well dressed. Dark jeans and boots, an expensive, navy v-necked sweater with a white tee shirt underneath. Well-groomed and wearing a very nice, masculine, rather arousing fragrance.

_Where did that thought come from? _

_S_he angrily shook herself and reached for his hand.

He had given them a money clip, she realised now, as it was discarded on the floor. They had taken the money and discarded or dropped what was probably worth more, as the clip was obviously solid gold and held one rather exquisite diamond in the centre of the bar. The money should have been enough for the likes of them, but they wanted his watch and he had exploded.

Now connected to the police dispatcher, she lost no time in speaking to - no, _demanding_, that someone "get the hell here," as she tucked the money clip into the pocket of the man's jeans.

Keeping the line open, she followed relayed instructions and reached out and gently moved his arm away from his side.

"There's a knife!" she said in horror, suddenly realising that his sweater was wet. "There's a knife in his side."

It was almost buried in his ribs under his arm, with just a section of the blade showing.

She had thought he had just been struck and possibly winded, before remembering seeing something glinting in the sun from across the street. It had been that which had drawn her attention. The dispatcher was talking, but she wasn't listening now as the man in front of her had stirred at her sudden exclamation;

"Where?" he suddenly murmured, thickly, reaching with his hand in the general direction of dull pain.

She put the phone down and carefully guided his hand toward it and he groaned.

"Mustn't take it out ..." he said. "It will … cause too much damage."

"That's what they just said," she said softly, pulling her silk scarf from around her throat and beginning to wrap it around the blade. She pushed her hand firmly against the wound, biting back a sob.

"S'good," the man said, looking up.

Their eyes met.

He stared at her with wide green eyes, before reaching up in an attempt to touch a long strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

"Be still," she murmured. "They're coming."

He frowned and tried to speak, but she put her finger to his lips.

"Sshhh. Save your breath."

For she could see he was struggling now. Struggling to breathe.

_Where are they … where are they?!_

She could sense people behind her now. She twisted around, to see people beginning to hover.

_For God's sake!_

"Is there a Doctor here?" she called out, firmly. No-one spoke, they just shuffled their feet and strained for a better look.

"Anyone?!" she glared at them. "Well, sod off then, or one of you at least go and wait for the ambulance. Make yourselves bloody useful."

Galvanised into action, a couple of them went to stand in the entrance to the alley, casting looks back in case they missed someone actually dying in the street. She turned back to the man and realised he was probably her age. Her heart twisted, as he was still staring at her.

"_I_ wouldn't argue with you," he whispered, his lips pulling into an approximation of a smile, but his eyes were beginning to glaze and his breathing was becoming laboured.

He was moving now, his face intent, his hand reaching for his other pocket, where he struggled to pull out a phone. She helped him and he looked up at her once more with those green-grey eyes, pupils blown. Her stomach twisted, as she took it from his shaking hand.

"_Aramis,"_ he said, before gathering himself one last time. "Aramis."

"What's your name?" she asked gently.

She watched his lips move, the frown deepening on his forehead.

"Athos," he finally managed.

She smiled in assurance that she _really_ didn't feel.

_Athos. _She had this stranger's name and could describe him. That was good.

She started to scroll through his contacts with her free hand when his head dropped forward onto his chest with a long sigh.

"No, don't you dare!" she ordered firmly; dropping the phone in her lap and reaching forward and gently pushing his head back to look at his face.

Just then, she heard sirens.

"They're here, Athos!" she cried, urgently. "Hold on, they're here."

His eyes were shut though and his breathing was becoming more laboured by the minute. Her right hand was still clamped to his side, her pale silk scarf unrecognisable now. There was a larger crowd around them now as the ambulance pulled up and two paramedics spilled out.

As the crowd turned away to watch their approach, and before the medics arrived at her side, she quickly unclipped Athos's watch and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket.

**To be continued ...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Aramis was running.

The call had come as he was getting out of the shower and he had fumbled for his phone amongst his clothes, discarded on the bathroom floor, before pushing his wet hair from his eyes and trying to make sense of the unfamiliar voice coming through.

Someone, a woman, was shouting at him above the sound of sirens. She was describing Athos, saying his name. And then ...

He heard what he needed and threw his clothes on, running down the stairs two at a time and out of the house.

The hospital she had directed him to was not that far. They had seen signs as they drove through the city.

Quicker to run.

_God, can you hear me?_

He dodged around a woman with a pushchair and ran across the road, weaving between traffic, not hearing the resultant curses and car horns.

God still hadn't gotten back to him, but he was punching Porthos's number as he ran and repeating what he knew. Porthos was being stubborn.

"I don't know who she is!" Aramis yelled as he ran. "She says she's in the ambulance with him," Aramis panted. "You know as much as I do. Just get there, Porthos. Please."

It was a short call. He cut Porthos off, just yelling the destination again for good measure, and he kept running.

oOo

Her knee was grazed.

She rubbed absently at it, as she sat in the back of the ambulance.

She had picked up his phone in the alley and had scrolled through his contacts, standing back from the paramedics who had crouched in front of the man, Athos. All too soon they were loading him into the back of the ambulance, the knife still sickeningly in situ, and she was swept along with them. Casting a look over her shoulder, she shuddered as she saw the pool of blood they were leaving behind.

The door had slammed shut behind her as the paramedic unhooked a metal seat and guided her onto it. Looking down, she saw she still had his phone clamped in her hand.

_What was the name he asked her to ring?_

The driver hit the siren and pulled away as she reached the end of the contact list. Her mind was a blank. She didn't look at what the paramedic was doing. Athos was on his side, his sweater cut from him, his tee shirt going the same way. Eyes closed. Unresponsive.

She could smell his distinctive fragrance. She doubted she would forget it.

She scrolled back to the top and was beginning to panic when a name leapt out at her.

It was the first name on the list.

_Aramis._

Tensing, she hit dial and waited.

The paramedics were shouting at each other, instructions going backward and forward between the driver and the one next to her, now pulling out an oxygen mask.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for this _Aramis_ to pick up.

And then, a voice. A kind voice.

"Athos! What is it, mon ami? Are you lost already?"

So she had spoken; ruining his day and most probably, shattering his world.

oOo

Athos was whisked away when they arrived and she stumbled from the ambulance. Directed to a waiting room on the first floor, she told them what Aramis had managed to yell at her while he was running, before he rang off;

"_Tell them he doesn't react well to anaesthesia. His blood pressure will drop."_

She sank onto a hard-backed chair.

Thankful that she was alone, she dropped her face into her hands and allowed the shock to finally take her and the tears to fall.

She had settled a little later when the door suddenly flew open and two men came noisily into the room. One, a doctor and the other, a man who looked not unlike Athos, with long dark wavy hair and a beard, who was talking animatedly to the doctor. She understood little of the medical jargon they were using. The doctor noticed her finally and put his hand on the other man's shoulder.

"This is the lady who came in with your friend," the doctor said. "From what she has told me, she probably saved his life."

The dark-haired man turned and saw her.

She pre-empted him by rising to her feet.

"Are you Aramis?" she asked, as she rose. "Athos's friend?"

"Yes …" he said, momentarily caught by surprise; realising he was staring.

"Ninon," she said, stepping forward and extending an elegant hand, "de Larroque."

Before he could react; hug her, kiss her, for what she had done, the door crashed open and Ninon took an alarmed step back.

"It's alright," Aramis said. "This is Porthos. He's a friend too."

oOo

**Two hours later:**

"Why is it takin' so long?" Porthos growled, as he paced the waiting room.

"These things take time, Porthos," Aramis replied, watching his friend cautiously. He had sought out the doctor assigned to Athos as soon as he had charged through the entrance lobby and obtained as much information as he could, before being shown to the waiting room, where he had met Ninon. "His lung has collapsed," Aramis added. "He's lost a lot of blood."

Ninon shuddered as her mind slipped back to the floor of the alley; slick red in the morning sunshine. Suddenly she remembered something and reached into her pocket and extending her hand to Aramis.

"His watch?" Aramis said, as he took it.

"That's why they attacked him," Ninon said. "He didn't want to give it up. It must mean a lot to him, so I thought I would look after it. These things can sometimes disappear in such circumstances."

"Thank you. It was his brother's," Aramis said softly, folding his fingers reverently around the watch.

"His late brother's," he added.

"Ah," Ninon said, sadly. "That makes sense, now."

"Thomas's death was sudden and brutal," Aramis said. "It has taken some time for him to come to terms with it. This watch is very precious to Athos."

"It's a wonder he didn't kill them," Porthos added, across the room.

oOo

"Tell me about him?" Ninon asked, now two hours into Athos's surgery.

The atmosphere had been very tense. Aramis had persuaded Porthos to go in search of something to eat, as the man was running on adrenaline fumes, fit to blow at any moment. Now, he was back, bringing sandwiches and coffee, looking a little more in control and just in time to hear Ninon's request.

Aramis looked up, startled by her question.

"He has an interesting face," she said, softly, by way of explanation.

Aramis appeared to gather his thoughts, before replying.

"We are all brothers, in all but blood," he replied. "He was our Captain when we were in the army. Now," he added, with a smile, "he is a diamond merchant."

"That's quite a leap," she offered, but she was curious to hear more. Athos had only uttered a few words in the alley; but his voice was beautiful; there was a refinement to it that intrigued her.

"We met in the military," Aramis continued. "Did our time, and now we have our own lives, but we meet up every few months. We each choose a destination. This was Athos's turn and that is why we are here. He wanted us to see a particular play."

Porthos had been quiet, staring out of the window, take-away coffee cup forgotten in his hand.

"What play?" she asked, tentatively.

"I can't remember," Aramis sighed, rubbing his fingers across his forehead.

"Somethin' high brow," Porthos muttered. "Always tryin' to culture us up."

"Well, _you_ perhaps," Aramis smiled. "Some of us have poetry in our souls."

"I've got poetry," Porthos grumbled. "Just don't need subtitles for it."

Aramis permitted himself a laugh, before turning back to Ninon to continue his Brief History of Athos.

"Athos's family are old French aristocracy and can be traced back a _long_ way," he continued, as he unwrapped a sandwich and offered another to her. She shook her head and he placed it on the small table between them, along with his own, which suddenly seemed unpalatable.

"But he don't care about any of that," Porthos interjected. "Won't hear mention of it."

"Though his wife enjoyed the title," Aramis added, darkly.

"His wife?" Ninon had asked, in surprise.

"Not our tale to tell," Aramis replied, his mood now a little sombre.

However, after a moment, he brightened and with a smile, he continued;

"He doesn't say much," he considered.

"He doesn't need to," Porthos interjected, as he and Aramis exchanged a look and a grin.

"You'll find out," Aramis said to her raised eyebrow.

"Does he have friends?" she asked. "Apart from you, I mean."

Porthos huffed.

"Doesn't need 'em."

"Doesn't want them," Aramis said.

"What sort of man is he?" she asked, rather puzzled now by their description of what seemed like a deeply private man.

"He is the best of men," Aramis said, softly.

"The very best," Porthos hummed in agreement.

She had thought these three were "more than" friends, when she first met Aramis and Porthos but it was obvious to her now that they were merely the best friends to each other she had ever met. There was such love in their words, such light in their eyes, she could only think that Athos must feel the same for them.

She had rarely seen a bond like it. It almost felt like an intrusion to be with them.

"You should know," Aramis said, gently, "He guards his heart. It was broken rather badly. But it still beats, despite his iron grip."

Aramis could see her interest was more than curiosity. Her "introduction" to their friend had been intense, terrifying. He had heard it in her voice that morning when he took her fateful call.

"And now, you have the measure of him," he finished.

But, rather than satisfied, she found herself wanting to hear more about Athos. To see him again and to hear his voice. Perhaps, even, to see his smile. The look they had shared that morning had shocked her in its intensity, despite the circumstances, and the memory lingered even now as she sat in the stark waiting room and Aramis continued to share a little of their history with her.

She tilted her head and looked at him carefully;

"I rather doubt that," she replied, quietly.

There was much to learn, she knew. And, she had been told many times, she was tenacious. In this it seemed, she would need to be very careful too. Or she would answer to his two equally tenacious friends.

**To be continued ...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and reviewing, it's much appreciated. And thanks to **Doubtful Guest,** who I cannot thank personally.

oOo

**Chapter Four**

At some point, Ninon gave a statement to a weary gendarme who had appeared at the hospital. She also gave him the phone image she had taken of the two thugs attacking Athos. Apparently, there had been a few similar robberies in the area over the last few months, the officer had said.

"Wish we'd known that before we came," Porthos grumbled, rubbing his temples as the man left, promising to be "in touch."

"It's like that in most large cities, mon ami," Aramis said. "Athos was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"If I ever get my 'ands on them, they're dead," Porthos growled, slapping a tight fist into the palm of his hand.

Not for the first time, Ninon wondered about these men. Aramis and Porthos were both charming but she sensed a dangerous undercurrent. Perhaps she was misjudging them, knowing now that they were ex-military. And, after all, this had been an extraordinary day.

Ninon decided she would stay until the doctor brought news and then would slip away. She was not adverse to making the first move when she found a man attractive and if it had been under any other circumstances, things may have been different. She wondered what would have happened if she had merely bumped into Athos at the opera.

"What are you thinking, ma chere?" Aramis asked her, jolting her out of her reverie.

"I was just wishing I had got closer," she said before she could stop herself.

Aramis smiled. "That would have been dangerous," he murmured.

She had wondered what he meant by that, until she realised he was talking about the photo she had taken, and thinking she meant "closer" in order to get a better image.

"Perhaps," she replied, though it had not been the thugs she had been thinking about.

oOo

**Finally:**

"Friends of Monsieur de la Fere?"

"Here," Aramis leapt to his feet and indicated the three of them; including Ninon in their circle.

"We are all here for him," he added, trying to read the man's face. He knew all about inscrutable doctor-expressions.

"He is in recovery now," the doctor said, before adding, "He will be there for a while."

"His blood pressure?" Aramis asked, tentatively.

"Among other things, yes," the doctor replied. "We were given that information when you arrived, I understand?" he said, looking at Ninon. "Most helpful."

She nodded and Aramis reached out and squeezed her arm. "Thank you for remembering," he said.

"We have repaired the damage," the doctor was saying, addressing Aramis. "He had a resultant haemothorax, as you know, which resulted in the collapse of his lung, so the drain is still in his chest and will be for a few days. We've given him fluids and a transfusion and he will need to be carefully monitored, on all counts."

"But 'e's alright?" Porthos interjected, anxiously.

"Hopefully, he _will_ be," the doctor replied. "He has a little way to go yet."

Aramis picked up on the doctor's words of warning; Athos was struggling. But Porthos blew out a breath, just happy the surgery was over.

"When can we see 'im?"

"In a little while," the doctor replied, cautiously. "Once we have him completely stable."

"Doubt he'll ever be that," Porthos said, grinning.

Aramis threw his arm around Porthos's shoulder and then patted his back.

"Told you he'd be alright," Porthos grunted, looking away and sweeping his face with his hand.

"I should go," Ninon said, picking up her bag, quickly.

"Do you have to?" Aramis responded. "Athos will want to meet you, and thank you."

Ninon, though, was looking flustered.

"I don't think ..."

"Please," Porthos said. "You can't just disappear. You saved 'is life."

"I doubt that ..." she began, only for Porthos to interrupt.

"There are CCTV cameras all along that street. I think it will soon become obvious what you did for 'im soon enough," he said.

She pushed her hair back from her face to gain herself a few minutes to compose herself.

"I can come back later," she said, softly.

"Good, then it's settled," Aramis smiled. "I have your number so I'll ring and let you know what room we will all be in."

She had things to do, but she needed time to herself to think. She nodded quickly to Aramis and Porthos and quickly left the room.

A few minutes later, Aramis slipped out in search of the doctor, finding him at the nurse's station ahead.

"I'd like to see him", he said, when the doctor turned toward him. "It may help."

The doctor knew Aramis was a paediatrician but he hesitated.

Aramis's eyes flicked down to the man's badge.

"I was a trauma surgeon for ten years before I became a paediatrician, Dr Martine," Aramis said, eyes boring into the man. "Athos will be disorientated. I am simply asking to be by his side to reassure him."

"And to reassure yourself?" the doctor said, off handedly.

"Of course," Aramis hissed. "We are brothers, and I have brought him through traumas in the past. He needs to know we are here. He nearly died in that alley."

The doctor's eyes swept over him, before he relented.

"Very well," he sighed, obviously exhausted. "My apologies. It's been a long night. Our shifts don't get any shorter."

Aramis relaxed. He had seen how busy the hospital was.

"Of course," he said. "My apologies too. I trust you doctor, but we three made a promise to each other many years ago, that is all."

"This way," the doctor said.

Relieved, Aramis turned and fell into step behind the doctor; eager to be at his friend's side.

They took the lift two floors up and emerged into another corridor. The doctor stopped at a set of double doors at the end and pushed one open. He stepped aside, making way for Aramis, and giving a curt nod to the two nurses inside. With the instruction that he would return in exactly fifteen minutes, he left Aramis to make his own way into the room.

Aramis pushed gratefully past him into the room where his friend was recovering from the lengthy surgery. One of the nurses, reading his expression, guided him over and he quietly slipped behind the drawn blue curtain.

"Athos?" he whispered, leaning over his friend, who was laid on his side, the tube the doctor spoke of in place, continuing to drain fluids from his chest cavity.

Athos though, was still heavily sedated and did not respond.

Aramis sank into the chair next to the bed and grasped his hand, bringing it up so that the back of his friend's hand was pressed to his own cheek; arm resting against his shoulder. He pressed the side of his face into the cool, limp hand as he started to speak;

"I can only stay a few minutes, my friend. I know you like straight information. So here it is. You've been unlucky enough to be stabbed. Hopefully, the worst is over; you're in recovery now and you'll be here for a few days. But it was a close call and you're not quite out of the woods. It's up to you now, brother.

"Remember our oath? Before we went on a mission? That's really why I'm here.

"_All for one_, Athos.

"We're both here, Porthos and I. And there is someone else here for you to meet. So don't give the nice nurses a hard time. Just concentrate on getting better now. No scares, please?"

He didn't know if Athos had taken it in, but he had done what he wanted to do. Just the two of them. He felt a little better as he kissed his brother on the forehead.

As he pulled back, he saw Athos blink once. He rested his hand gently against his cheek, and then he heard the door open and emerged to see Doctor Martine waiting. He made his way toward him and back to Porthos.

oOo

When Ninon returned, she wasn't sure what she would find, but she was drawn to these three men and wanted to see Athos again. The image of him in the alley was in the uppermost of her mind. True to his word, Aramis had texted her the room number they had now moved Athos into and where they all were, together now. However, as she approached the room, she felt trepidation. Their invitation to return was obviously heartfelt, but she did not want to intrude.

Pushing back her uncharacteristic self-doubt, she straightened her back, took a breath and pushed open the door.

Only to lose that breath at the sight before her.

The room was not large but what space there was was filled by the hi-tech station that comprised a wide, state-of-the-art bed, wired into machines and monitors. Amid all that, propped in the requisite reclining position for his injury, was Athos; eyes closed with an oxygen mask on his face.

She had blocked the image of him in the ambulance from her mind, concentrating on that first call to Aramis, shock finally setting in and making her shake. Now, dressed in a blue utilitarian hospital gown, a drain obviously in place in the side of his chest, Athos looked worse than he had in the alley.

Her eyes caught sight of the large plastic bag on the floor, through which she could see the remains of his sweater, jeans and tee-shirt. One sock was visible through the plastic. A dark blue sock with naval motifs; bright little boats in yellow and red with a white rope weaving between them.

Porthos caught her staring and reached down to shift the bag under his chair.

"He likes mad socks," he said, gently.

Suddenly, the bubble burst, as Aramis stood up and came quickly toward her.

They were both there. Of course they were, and they were either side of her now, guiding her to a chair. Porthos poured water and thrust a glass into her hand.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what I was expecting … I thought he would look better."

"It looks worse than it is," Aramis said. "All this," he added, indicating the bed, "is helping him."

oOo

Time passed, afternoon turning to evening.

The room grew dark, but the bed was an island of bright, medical light. A monitor beeped steadily in the background. They were largely left alone, but Aramis and Porthos kept up a quiet litany of chat as they held Athos's hand, waiting for him to wake; often drawing her in, never forgetting her.

Slowly, the sedation began to wear off, and finally, in the early hours of the following morning, Athos opened his eyes. Raising his hand, he pulled the oxygen mask down as his eyes swept between Aramis and Porthos.

He held a shaking hand out, and Aramis placed his on top of it. Porthos leaned over and covered their hands with his larger one.

"All for one," Aramis and Porthos said together.

"Welcome back," Porthos said, then. "You took your time."

"Porthos," Aramis scolded gently, "You know our brother needs all the beauty sleep he can get."

He reached out and gently pushed the mask back in place.

"Keep it there a little longer," he said, as he pushed the buzzer to call the medical staff.

Almost immediately there was a flurry of nurses making him comfortable. Blood pressure was checked, along with the staples in his side and the drainage tube. The monitor was turned low enough not to irritate. The mask was replaced with a nasal tube. It all left Athos thoroughly exhausted and he slept for a further two hours, leaving the three of them time to stretch their legs in relay and refuel.

When Porthos and Ninon returned, Athos was awake again and Aramis had perched on the edge of the bed and was peering intently at him.

"How do you feel?" he asked, gently. "Do you remember what happened?"

Athos frowned, his hands resting lightly on the sheet.

"Confused," he said, slowly. "I was getting us coffee," he added.

"What were you doing in the cut-through?" Aramis asked then.

Athos looked from him over to Porthos.

"I thought I saw you," he said to Porthos. "But you disappeared."

"Wait ..." Porthos said. "What? I went to the market. To get something to make for lunch."

"I was getting us coffee," Athos said again.

Porthos was shocked.

"Athos …you probably _did_ see me. I must have been ahead of you while you were …_ I'm so sorry!"_

"You couldn't have known," Athos replied, before frowning once more. "Someone was there. She helped me."

Aramis turned then and looked toward the other side of the room and he beckoned.

Athos's eyes flicked past him, coming to rest on the beautiful woman now rising from her seat in the shadows.

"Athos," Aramis said, softly, "This is Ninon."

**To be continued ...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"_Athos," Aramis said, softly, "This is Ninon ..."_

As Ninon came toward him, Athos's eyes widened.

"The Angel," he whispered.

Aramis exchanged a look with her and smiled. "An Avenging Angel, it seems," he said.

"I remember," Athos murmured, staring at her, quite lost for words.

"We'll leave you two to get re-acquainted," Aramis beamed, looking over at Porthos, who took the hint and nodded. "Be back soon," he rumbled, at the look of uncertainty on Ninon's face, as they both quickly left the room.

"Well, that was subtle," she said, when they had gone, turning to look at Athos, who now had a small, amused smile on his face.

"They don't know the meaning of the word," he replied. "I think … I owe you a scarf?"

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. Her hair, unfettered, tumbled around her shoulders.

"You remember that?"

"Yes," he said. "I thought you were an Angel ..." he repeated.

"Hardly," she huffed. "More a hard-nosed business woman just trying to save a deal."

"My apologies for interrupting you," he murmured, gazing at her.

She had been right about his voice.

"There'll be other deals. You were more important," she smiled. "You should sleep now. I'm sure your friends will be here when you wake up."

"Will _you_?" he murmured, sleep already taking him.

"We'll see," she smiled.

oOo

Porthos was there when he next opened his eyes.

It was daylight now.

Athos pulled his head back slightly to bring his friend's face into focus. He studied him for a moment before his face softened and he slowly smiled.

"Hey," Porthos said gently, watching him wake up. "How's the holiday so far?"

Athos considered for a moment, registering the dull ache in his side and overwhelming exhaustion.

"Could be worse," he murmured, rolling his head slowly from side to side to ease the muscles in his neck, tight from his upright position.

Porthos pressed his lips tightly together, which made Athos reach out a hand to him, which was taken with infinite care.

They stayed like that for a long few moments; Porthos with his head down, staring at their hands.

Then, Porthos sniffed.

"So, what do you think of Ninon?" he rumbled, mischief now creeping into his voice.

"_Porthos ..."_ Athos groaned.

"What?" Porthos replied, unabashed, raising his head and locking eyes with his friend.

"Somethin' good's got to come out of this, Ath," he said, his voice catching.

In reply, Athos squeezed his hand.

oOo

Ninon was beginning to realise that something was afoot. Aramis and Porthos spent the following day leaving her alone with Athos. In the end, even Athos realised.

"As I said," he remarked, as Porthos disappeared after suddenly "remembering" he had to run an errand, "Subtle they are not."

She laughed but suddenly fell silent, and he looked at her intently. "What is it?" he asked, gently. "Tell me?"

"I thought you were dying," she suddenly blurted out.

He did not respond and she watched him carefully. "Did _you_ think you were dying?" she asked him.

"It crossed my mind," he replied quietly, looking away.

"A barely adequate answer," she murmured, which made him smile, though he did not expand.

She was learning that he said more by what he didn't actually verbalise. And then there were _the __looks_. That was a whole thesaurus in itself.

"But then," he finally offered, "There you were, as Aramis says, "My Avenging Angel."

"You have to believe in the notion of angels to think you have seen one," she said.

If she thought she could draw him out, she was mistaken.

"Beliefs are fluid and notions are transient. If I have learned anything from experience, it is that," he responded.

She noticed he had Thomas's watch back on his wrist. Aramis must have returned it.

"There are so many wonderful things to explore in this life, Athos. Don't shut yourself off because of a tragedy not of your making."

He saw she was looking at the watch, Aramis had told him she had held it for safe keeping.

"When we lost my brother," he said, "My mother told me, when someone dies an angel is there to meet them at the gates of Heaven, to let them know that their life is just beginning."

"That's a lovely sentiment," Ninon said. "And somewhat comforting, in the circumstances. I wish I had know that when you were bleeding all over the alley. Do you believe in fate, Athos?" she ventured.

"As pre-determined destiny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think that what is meant to happen will always find a way."

In response, she reached for the fine gold chain around her neck and lifted it up for him to see. It bore a small gold charm; a pair of angel's wings.

"My mother's," she said.

"Beautiful," he smiled, his eyes wandering from the necklace to her bright blue eyes. He was beginning to think that she was a very remarkable woman.

oOo

Once assured that Athos and Ninon were well acquainted, Aramis announced that as Athos would remain in the hospital for a few more days, they had extended their rental of the Rue Ferou house for another week.

The play that Athos wanted them to see was playing for a further three months. As it turned out, it was Cyrano de Bergerac, a classic tale of a charismatic swordsman-poet who helps another woo the woman he loved. Porthos had given her a wink when he had read out the synopsis to her, which had made her turn her head away and smile. She was beginning to become quite fond of these two.

"Perhaps you'd like to join us, Ninon?" Aramis asked, locking his dark brown eyes on her. "It can be easily arranged."

"Oh," she said, surprised and not a little disarmed.

"It's alright, you get used to 'im." Porthos said. "Forewarned is forearmed."

Aramis side-glanced Porthos and they shared a smirk.

"They're smirking," Athos said, without looking at them.

"So are you," Ninon laughed.

"I have no defence," Athos said, staring into her blue eyes. "And certainly none against angels," he added. "Or devils," he finished, giving his friends an attempt at his best glare, which fell somewhat short.

Aramis and Porthos continued to grin at him, waiting for his response.

"That's settled then," Athos murmured.

"You do realise you're still on a lot of medication?" she said.

"The theatre will not over-tax me, and I have a strong constitution," he replied, amused and grateful for her evident concern.

"That he does," Porthos grunted behind them.

"What have I gotten into here?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing you cannot handle, I am sure," Athos smiled, reaching for her hand, which she willingly took.

"Amen to that," Aramis and Porthos said in unison.

"_Amen,"_ Athos sighed, as he settled back; the merest hint of a very contented smile on his lips.

**End of Part One**

**To be continued ...**

oOo

**A/N: **Dumas mentions that Athos lives in Rue Ferou in the Three Musketeers.

On to the new section! There are two more parts, and I will post every other day from now on, starting tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Two**

So, we come to the continuation of the original story, where Athos and Ninon continue their friendship.

oOo

**Chapter Six**

Ninon, as it turned out, was an interior designer; her business partner, Bertrand Poulier, a property developer. It was a perfect collaboraton. She was more than interested and a little surprised to learn that Athos lived on a houseboat on the canals of Amsterdam.

She was so surprised, that Aramis had to quietly explain that he also had a house in Milan and one in Geneva.

Aramis also warned her once more that Athos could be something of a recluse, if left on his own too much and she quietly decided to take him in hand. From what she had seen, he needed someone in his life to chase away the melancholy she had seen glimpses of. In the hospital, he had referred to her as his Avenging Angel but now, perhaps, he needed a Guardian Angel. So, when he invited her to visit him in Amsterdam as they had all parted at Charles de Gaulle airport, she had given him her phone number and agreed they should arrange something soon.

Now, as she approached Athos's houseboat_, _moored in a quiet, exclusive basin of an Amsterdam canal, she was intrigued.

The outside was slick; painted in navy and cream with brass portholes and railings along the roof. It was split level; the stern comprising another level, which housed an enclosed glass viewing area.

The deck was a deep, gleaming mahogany.

The name of the vessel was scripted in gold lettering; "_Epiphany._" She wondered what had brought Athos to this point and what the name signified.

If the outside was beautiful, the interior was stunning.

Dark wood, a large desk with a swivel captain's chair upholstered in navy leather; bookshelves on most of the wall space, it resembled an old-style gentleman's club, rather than a houseboat.

There were expensive oriental rugs scattered on the floor and the lighting was low-key. She could imagine the ambiance on an evening, when the blinds were drawn and the lamps were subtly glowing. At the end was a small but beautiful state-of-the-art kitchen, with sleek stainless steel lines. There were two closed doors beyond, which she presumed was the bedroom and bathroom.

A sleek wooden spiral staircase led to the upper level, which was visible through a part glass roof over Athos's desk, which flooded his workspace with natural light.

Casting a critical professional eye over it, she had nothing to add, apart from the addition of some plants, which she made a mental note of.

Athos was seated at his desk and he swung around and rose to greet her warmly.

He was wearing dark jeans and a crisp white shirt, open at his throat and not tucked in. His feet, she noticed, were bare. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, as she smiled at his approach.

"Hello," he smiled warmly. "Welcome to base camp."

She dropped her bag on the floor and moved toward him. She had insisted he did not meet her at the airport, as he had work to catch up on after his extended break in Paris. It had been pleasant walking along the canal and catching sight of _"Epiphany"_ for the first time.

He place his hands gently on each side of her waist and kissed her.

They reacquainted slowly, but delightfully.

He was wearing the fragrance she had first noticed when she had come to his rescue in Paris. She made another mental note to buy him something else, as this one, although beautiful, raised uncertain emotions in her, as she had tried to save his life.

"I'm very impressed," she smiled, when they eventually released each other, running elegant fingers over the dark wood of the book case and noting the choice of books held on the shelves. A very eclectic mix.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pausing at his desk, which held a large black square of material, on which several bright diamonds sparkled.

"Come and see," he murmured.

He handed her his eye piece and she leaned over to inspect the stones.

"They are beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes, they are," he replied. "They're fake," he added, quietly.

She looked up at him abruptly.

"Really?" she gasped. "Not that I know anything about diamonds, but they don't _look_ like fakes."

"That's the point," he said, taking hold of her hand and dropping three into her open palm.

"How long did they fool you?" she asked, turning the stones over in her hand, seeing how they sparkled in the rays of the sun shining through the glass roof above her.

He raised an eyebrow.

"They didn't," he replied. "I bought them because they are fake."

"_These_, however," he added, dipping his hand into the open drawer, "are real."

He held up an exquisite necklace and watched as the diamonds were reflected in her wide blue eyes.

"Turn around," he murmured.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and she carefully dropped the three fake stones back onto the black square on his desk and turned around with a smile on her lips.

"Lift your hair," he instructed.

She caught her thick hair in both hands and lifted it, exposing her neck. He gently placed it around her throat and fastened it at her nape, before brushing a kiss on the soft skin behind her ear; delighting at the shiver that ran through her.

"It's yours," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She spun around.

"Mine?!" she gasped, her hand reaching up to caress the stones. "But … why?"

"You saved my life," Athos said, simply.

"I can't accept it," she cried. "It's too much!"

"You can, and it's not," he replied, firmly. "Not for what you did."

Eyes locked, they leant toward each other and their lips touched in a soft gentle kiss, before they both broke into a smile and parted.

"Thank you, Athos," she said, though it seemed inadequate. She searched for something to say, overwhelmed by his generosity.

Noting the emotional effect his gift had on her, he moved toward the kitchen and pulled out two white, porcelain mugs.

"Tea?" he asked.

Smiling assent, she moved toward him now, leaning on the sleek granite counter and watching as he deftly went about his task.

"That would be lovely," she said.

"Don't you feel vulnerable here, given your business?" Ninon asked, as he set the mugs on a tray.

She knew he was an ex-soldier and could look after himself, but his welfare was important to her, since Paris.

"I have taken all necessary precautions," he replied, as he beckoned her to a small hidden nook she hadn't seen when she had taken in the interior.

"It's quite a leap from soldiering to diamonds," she said as she slid onto the brightly coloured seating.

He shrugged.

"I can see why you would think that," he replied, easily. "Much of my family's wealth came from mining. India and Africa. The infrastructure was there, ready to be resurrected," he added and he sat opposite her.

"Like you?" she asked, mischievously.

He laughed.

"I suppose so."

"Opals were very popular in the eighteenth century, apparently," he continued, handing her a mug.

"I love opals," Ninon replied, as their fingers touched. "I have an opal ring."

"Then you would love my mother's inherited jewellery," he smiled. "Opals _and_ diamonds. They take up three deposit boxes in three different Parisian bank vaults."

"My, my," she responded.

"Quite," he laughed. _And, __he thought to himself,__ if I can hold this relationship together, one day they will be yours._

She turned her head toward the double doors behind them.

"What's through there?" she asked softly, raising an elegant eyebrow; her eyes wide.

"Nothing much," he replied, holding her gaze. "Just, my bedroom."

_Something_ was happening. It was always going to. They both knew it.

Her pale lips parted in a knowing smile. When that smile reached her ice-blue eyes they lit with a fire which had a dazzling effect.

"Show me?" she replied, reaching across the small table and taking his willing hand.

Rising, she laced her fingers through his and led him toward the doors.

They did not come out for two days.

**To be continued …**

**A/N: **Well! … where on earth is _this _going?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Waking to the sun streaming across the large double bed, Ninon stretched. She was alone, but noises and aromas told her that her host was close by. She had to admit, he had looked after her _very_ well.

She pulled on Athos's white shirt and slipped from the room bare-footed, pulling her hair up and winding a band into it. Athos was standing in the small galley kitchen, in the middle of making scrambled eggs; dressed casually, but as was his style, beautifully.

"Good morning," he said softly, taking her in as she approached and smiling his approval. She really was a very beautiful woman. Every time he saw her, she took his breath away.

"Do you like smoked salmon?" he added, pulling his attention reluctantly back to the stove.

"You cook as well?" she said, feigning shock, before relenting; "I love smoked salmon."

"Not entirely useless," he smirked, recovering his composure. "I get by, even for a man."

"Oh, I agree," she said, returning his smirk, "You are singularly talented."

He laughed.

She liked making him laugh.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked, whisking eggs.

"What are the options?" she asked.

"Well, the Museum of Bags and Purses is 700 metres that way," he said, gesturing with the whisk to the bow of the boat. "Always a winner. And we are 1.4km from the Flower Market and the National Opera & Ballet, though that last one would be an evening pursuit and would probably require me to find suitable attire."

"Or, we could stay here," she said softly. "Then, it wouldn't matter quite so much what you wear."

"So we could," he smiled to himself, ducking his head down. "We can decide after breakfast," he added, picking up a letter he had been reading.

"Porthos is coming for a few days," he said, holding the letter toward her.

"Porthos writes letters?" she asked, eyebrows raised as she took it from him.

"He's no technophobe, but he enjoys some of the old traditions," Athos replied, waving his arm to the end of the kitchen where several postcards adorned a neat cork board on the wall.

It seemed that every time Porthos went anywhere outside the UK, he sent Athos a postcard.

"Aramis has a matching board," Athos added, giving her a brief amused shrug.

"That's sweet," Ninon purred. "It really is," she added, running her fingers over postcards of various famous landmarks. There was also one of the African savannah.

"He went on safari last year," Athos explained, his head in the fridge, looking for salmon. "Ended up working in an orphaned elephant sanctuary," he added, smiling at the memory. "For a while there, I didn't think he would come back."

"Really?" she replied, pulling the postcard off the board. "May I?"

"Sure," he replied. "Business called him back in the end," he continued, "But I think he left part of his heart there."

"I'm sure there's enough of it left for his friends," she said quietly, as she read Porthos's careful script before she looked up quickly, self-conscious of her proclamation.

"I am sure he does," Athos responded fondly, making up two plates of food.

"Business or pleasure?" Ninon asked, as she accepted a perfectly made plate of eggs from Athos and made her way to the little nook, sliding elegantly onto the seat and flipping out the napkin Athos had laid next to her cutlery.

"A little of both, it seems," Athos replied, sliding in next her this time, their thighs touching. "There is a warehouse he is interested in looking at, as part of his fitness empire."

"Good," Ninon replied. "He can drag you into the sunshine occasionally.

Athos spluttered. "You make me sound like a vampire!" he laughed.

"Well, you seem to spend a lot of time below decks," she responded, gently running a finger down the side of his face.

"Only when I'm working," he replied, feigning indignance. "Or in my bedroom," he added in a low voice, his hand dropping to rest on her leg.

It was her turn to splutter.

oOo

Three days later, Porthos arrived.

Ninon had offered to move into a hotel but Athos assured her there was no need; Porthos had already booked himself into a hotel and was only planning a short trip. He did not want to disturb them but could not come to Amsterdam without calling on Athos.

So on a sunny afternoon, Athos and Ninon set out to walk along the canal to Dam Square where Porthos's quite impressive hotel was located.

"He likes to be comfortable," Athos said, in response to her surprise. "Years of army living left their toll. And, of course, his early years."

Ninon had learned a little about all their backgrounds, which only helped endear them to her.

If she expected a low-key greeting, Ninon was taken by surprise when Porthos swept her into his arms and spun her around in the hotel lobby under the stern eye of the Manager, as he also bellowed her name at the same time. It was as if no time at all had passed since they were all together in Paris.

Dinner was a very warm, happy event as Ninon watched as the two men traded news and gently teased each other. She was always included in the conversation, and the wine flowed.

"So, Ninon," Porthos asked over his second dessert, "What are your plans?"

Ninon gave Athos a quick look, wondering if Porthos was asking out of interest or a need to protect his friend, but Athos merely smiled.

"Well, I have several contracts to fulfil when I get back," she replied, "And a business deal that should ensure I can finally take some time off."

"A deal with your business partner?" Athos asked, pouring more wine.

Her business partner, Bertrand Poulier, was the owner of the elegant house they had rented on their ill-fated Paris vacation. They had not met him; everything was set up when they arrived at the house. It had been a coincidence that they had met Ninon, who happened to be passing by on the morning that Athos had been attacked, effectively saving his life.

"Yes," she smiled. "It's been on the cards for six months but Bertrand assures me it's almost finalised."

"What type of deal?" Porthos asked. As a business man, he was always interested in how people made their money. "That is," he added, "If you don't mind telling us?"

"No, not at all," Ninon replied. "Well, Bertrand owns several houses not far from Rue Ferou, including the one you rented. He has acquired several more in the area. They all need refurbishing but to do that he has offered me co-ownership. It's a substantial outlay but they will be show houses for the interior design business I run, and hopefully, will bring more work in."

"So, big outlay first, and bigger benefit after?" Porthos said, scraping his bowl clean, much to her amusement.

"Yes," Ninon replied, "We have done it before, but not on such a large scale as I never had the time; but this was too good an offer to miss."

Porthos caught Athos's eye, but Athos merely shrugged. It was not a risk he would take but he knew Porthos had taken such a risk when he first set up his fitness business.

Porthos sat back and held up his glass.

"A toast then," he offered, and they all raised their glasses. "To successful deals and future business."

They clinked glasses.

"Always a winning combination," Athos murmured.

The toast proved good for Porthos, as he signed for the warehouse two days later. It was ideal for expansion of his London base and would mean he could see a bit more of Athos and Aramis, when the latter visited from the US. They had a celebratory meal before Porthos flew back to London, waving him off at the airport with a promise to visit him in the near future.

Athos threw an arm around Ninon's shoulders and walked her back.

oOo

The following morning, Athos walked into the living area of _Epiph__a__ny_, drying his hair with a towel, to find Ninon scowling at her phone.

"Everything alright?" he asked, her expression unfamiliar to him.

She quickly switched her phone off and dropped it into her bag, turning toward him with an over-bright smile.

"Yes! Fine," she said quietly, coming toward him and taking the towel. She leaned in to kiss him, before standing back.

"What are your plans today?" she asked, hurriedly.

Athos paused, but decided against pursuing her change of mood.

"I have a meeting. Sorry. It won't take too long. Make yourself at home and I will be back to take you for an expensive dinner," he said.

Her smile faltered just a little and she reached for his hand.

"You don't have to do that," she said, searching his face.

He squeezed her fingers.

"I know," he said, softly. "I want to."

She watched as he dressed, before stepping up to him to help straighten his pale pink silk tie.

"A tie? It must be important."

"It could be," he said. "Like you, this deal will allow me to kick back a little," he added. "If so, I can come into the daylight a little more often," he smiled.

"What wonderful news, Athos," she replied.

"Let's not count our chickens," he laughed.

"No, that would not do," she replied, almost to herself.

"You'll be alright?" he said, taking both her hands in his.

She squeezed his hands and then turned away. "Of course. I'm not a helpless female, cast adrift in a strange city."

Athos frowned.

"Of course you are not," he said. "I could never think of you as helpless. You are the least helpless female I know."

Far from drawing a smile from her she picked up her jacket.

"Come on," she said. "I'll wait with you for your cab."

When the cab came twenty minutes later she wished him luck and kissed him, before hopping back onto the deck and watching as the cab disappeared into a side street, away from the canal.

And that was how Ninon disappeared from Athos's life.

**To be continued ...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Just a note to say this will be my last post until next Wednesday, when I'll return with the next instalment. Thanks for reading and reviewing. You keep me going.

oOo

**Chapter Eight**

"What do you mean, she's disappeared!" Aramis said, some days later, in a late night catch-up call from the US.

Across the room, Athos sat slumped in his chair in the dark.

"What I said," he replied flatly.

Aramis's face filled his laptop screen in front of him, though Athos had trouble meeting his friend's gaze, so he relegated him to the top right-hand corner of the screen. It was after midnight in the US but Aramis had called as soon as Porthos had told him that Ninon had simply packed her bags and gone.

"What did you do?" Aramis asked, suspiciously.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Athos replied, tersely.

"Well, it's been a long time, my friend. Maybe you were a little rusty in the "keeping the lady satisfied department."

"You must give me some tips sometime," Athos said angrily, slamming the laptop closed and effectively cutting Aramis's call off.

An hour later, the phone rang. Snatching it up, expecting another round of questionning from Aramis, it was Porthos's deep tones now that reached him.

"What did you do to Aramis?" was his opening line.

"What is it with you two!" Athos replied. "Why is this _my_ fault?"

"Well ..." Porthos said, only to be interrupted by Athos.

"Please, do _not_ tell me my numerous faults," Athos snarled. "I am well acquainted with every one."

"I was _goin'_ to say," Porthos sighed, "Why would Ninon disappear when she's madly in love with you?"

Athos deflated.

"You think?" he murmured after a short lull.

"Damn right," Porthos growled.

"I thought so too," Athos returned, dejectedly.

Porthos heard the clink of a bottle on glass.

"I'm comin' over," Porthos said abruptly.

"Porthos, you don't have to do that," Athos groaned, though it warmed him to think his friend would drop everything like that.

"Yeah, I think I do, brother," Porthos said. "I'll be on the first flight. I'll get a cab to _Epiph__a__ny_."

There was no answer.

Porthos knew from experience that Athos did not deal with rejection well. He had lost himself quite badly after his marriage had ended; although, given the circumstances, it had been understandable. Porthos had vowed then never to let him sink so low again. This new turn of events was a shock to Porthos as well. He had thought his friend and Ninon were made for each other.

"Athos. Speak to me," Porthos said now, his voice low and careful.

"Hmm?" Athos responded, absently.

"Please be sober when I get there," Porthos ventured. "We'll figure this out."

When there was no response, Porthos gripped his phone tighter and chewed his lower lip.

"Alright," Athos said, finally, and Porthos let out a breath.

Athos said goodbye and switched off his phone, tossing it across his desk. Then he picked up the glass of bourbon he had just poured himself and threw the liquid down his throat. Standing wearily, he picked up the half empty bottle and headed toward his bedroom. Stopping off in the kitchen, he chugged the remains of the bottle down the sink.

oOo

When Porthos arrived the following afternoon, Athos was staring at his laptop screen.

"Look at this," he murmured, without looking up.

"Hello to you too," Porthos said, dropping his bag and crossing the floor to stand behind Athos.

"What is it?" he grunted, wanting nothing more than a shower. Air travel, however short, always made his skin itch and he had been dreaming of a hot shower since he landed at Schiphol airport, two hours earlier.

"It's a photo of my assailants," Athos said, looking up at him. "From the police."

"Ninon's photo?" Porthos asked.

Ninon had taken a photo on her phone as she had dashed across the street to intervene that fateful morning. However, it did not show the assailant's faces. They had been careful to keep their backs to the street opposite the alley.

"No, this is new. From the CCTV cameras half a mile up the street," Athos replied. "It's definitely them. Same clothes," he added.

"Well, it took them long enough," Porthos growled. His view of Parisian police officers had dived since Athos had been attacked. Dismissed as a simple attempted robbery that went wrong, they had certainly not broken into a sweat to investigate. Then again, there had been several such attacks in the area, all tourists. Once they were all back on the plane heading home, Porthos suspected the police considered them out of jurisdiction.

Athos clicked to enlarge the photograph that had arrived in his email that morning. It showed the two in a shadowy alley, in conversation outside the doorway of a bar.

"Well, well, well," Porthos said, leaning in. "Hello, boys."

oOo

A little while later, after a long hot shower, Porthos emerged, deep in thought.

"They've just got to find them now," he growled. "They'll be long gone."

The police, Athos told him, wanted any further information he could give them. Had he remembered anything more? Their accents? Any more they had said that he had remembered?

There was nothing Athos could add to his original statement.

"Time to go back to Paris," Porthos said later as he made dinner.

"To do what?" Athos asked, idly pushing papers around his desk.

Porthos put a steaming bowl of pasta in front of him and grinned.

"Join up the dots," he said with a grin.

oOo

On arrival in Paris the next day, Athos and Porthos booked into a hotel and went in search of Ninon. Her house was easy to find, but she was not there. A neighbour said she had returned briefly, but had locked the house up again and gone.

Her business partner was also not available and the house they had rented on Rue Ferou had been taken off the rental market. They spent the afternoon trawling local estate and property agencies websites but found no trace of the houses that Ninon said were part of the business deal she and Bertrand had formulated.

"I don't like this," Porthos grunted.

"Neither do I," Athos had to agree.

"We'd better pay the cops a visit. Tell them what we've found out," Porthos said. "I'd like a face-to-face with them," he added with a scowl.

The police station wasn't far away. Athos wasn't sure what relevance their information was to the attempted robbery and assault, but he could not help feeling a little confused and, yes, disappointed. He had trusted Ninon. Her disappearance had something to do with the call she had taken on the boat, he knew. He had not pushed her at the time, but she was keeping something from him. That hurt.

The building was pale stone, and stretched the length of the street. It looked more like a bank than a police station, but that image was dispelled once inside the glass front doors. It was crowded and noisy. Uniformed officers moved around civilians, herding them this way and that. A couple of drunks leaned on the desk, but moved away when they took in Porthos's bulk, next to them. They were pointed toward a waiting room on the first floor by a disinterested official on the desk and followed the signs along a corridor, taking the lift and finally pushing open the double doors at the end of a second corridor.

It was quieter, with six or seven people sitting on hard plastic chairs. Sunlight shone through a vertical blind, half pulled across a long narrow window.

Athos and Porthos stopped in their tracks as the door closed behind them with a quiet thud.

There, sitting on a chair by the window, head down, was Ninon.

**To be continued ...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Time seemed to stop for Athos, as he looked at the woman he now knew he loved.

"What are you doing here?" he breathed, aware of her eyes on him as she lifted her head in surprise.

She sighed and slowly stood.

"I've been called in," she said. "Apparently, they have CCTV of the two men who attacked you. They want to see if I recognise them."

"And you came?" Athos said, totally confused.

"Of course I came," she said tersely. "Why wouldn't I? Those men need to be prosecuted. They could have killed you!"

People were watching their exchange, no doubt relieved to have something to focus on.

Suddenly full of fire, she turned and glared at them causing most dropped their eyes. It was the old Ninon that Athos recognised. He had watched as she challenged on-lookers the morning in the alley when he had been attacked. _They_ had obeyed her too.

She looked tired though and he wanted to pull her into his arms and ask her a hundred questions.

Before he could ask any more, a police officer came out and introduced himself. Although surprised to see Athos and Porthos, he suggested they all retire to an interview room to look at the CCTV footage together.

Athos and Porthos held back, allowing Ninon to fall into step behind the officer. They exchanged a side glance and Porthos reached out and put a firm hand on the small of Athos's back as they walked along together. They were shown into a windowless room which held a table and four chairs. Porthos spotted the cameras in the corner and nudged Athos to draw his attention to them. Athos gave him a "behave yourself" look, which made Porthos grin and shake his head.

They all took their places around the table as the officer flipped up the laptop and brought the photo from the CCTV footage up. Athos confirmed that he had received their email and had seen the image already. Ninon looked annoyed and gave the image a cursory look.

"Yes, that's them," Ninon said, her voice flat. "But without their faces in view, how will you identify them?"

Just then there was a knock on the door and a female officer brought in two large files and dropped them on the desk, before leaving.

"We would like you to look at some photographs, Madame," the police officer said, opening the first book and sliding the book toward her. "And you too, Monsieur, since you are here," he added, addressing Athos.

"Bit archaic, isn't it?" Porthos growled, his eyes tracing the many photographs of those who had fallen foul of the Paris police authorities.

"Not everyone likes sitting in front of a computer screen for several hours," the police man grunted. "You are under no obligation, but if you want this case closed, it would be helpful," he added, his eyes flicking between them. "_Since you are here_," he finally said, before turning to Porthos.

"You don't have to stay if you don't wish to Monsieur," the man said pointedly to Porthos. "You were not a witness, I believe?"

Before Porthos could respond to the slight, Athos gently touched his shin with his boot, and with a sigh Porthos sat back, resigned to a protracted stay.

"Got any coffee?" he said, pinning the police officer with a glare. "_Since you're here_?"

The man looked as if he was going to say something, but his eye slipped to the camera in the corner of the ceiling and he abruptly turned and left the room.

Athos and Ninon both spent the next hour trawling through photographs of criminals in the hope they may recognise someone. Some were possibles, but neither wanted to incriminate someone without proof. Porthos left the room a few times to stretch his legs and cadge more coffee, before Athos and Ninon both admitted defeat and called the police officer back into the room.

"We will keep looking for them, Madame," the police officer had said, finally, before begrudgingly shaking all their hands.

"I don't see why you called me here," Ninon said. "You could have emailed _me_ the photograph," she added as a parting shot as they all left the policeman in no doubt as to their combined frustration at their lack of progress.

And, had she had known Athos would be there, she would not have gone. He obviously wanted an explanation as to her disappearance, and now that she was not engrossed in the task of searching photographs, she found it difficult to make eye contact with him.

It had been a wasted trip. They were back to square one. However, as they stepped into the sunshine, Athos and Porthos suggested retiring to a nearby bar, and she wearily agreed, following them to a small bar across the street.

Placing the drinks on the table, Porthos sat down. They had information on Bertrand they had discovered and needed to tell her, but he wanted to hear her story first, if she was willing to enlighten them. He pushed the glass of wine in front of her. Athos had been silent since they had entered the bar, but Porthos wanted answers as much as he did.

"You in trouble?" he asked gently, leaning across and searching her face.

She picked up her wine and took a deep swallow.

Raising her head she finally looked at them and tears sprang to her eyes.

"I've been such a fool," she whispered.

At the sight of her dejection, Athos's heart melted.

Porthos had already told Athos in no uncertain terms that he doubted Ninon would do anything to purposefully hurt him. It seemed now to Athos, that his friend may be right. Athos's past experience had coloured his expectations about women but seeing the fiercely independent Ninon so vulnerable, he reached out to cover her hand with his. She's didn't pull away. In fact she twined her fingers in his.

"What is it, love?" he asked, gently.

"I've lost a lot of my money, Athos," she finally said, before her words tumbled out. "Stolen. By Bertrand. Along with my pride. He's swindled me. It was all a lie."

Despite her despair, Athos felt a surge of relief. Whatever had happened, she was not party to it. The thought of betrayal that had crept into his mind was instantly banished. All he felt now was a need to help, protect and love.

They gently told her what they had discovered about Bertrand, though she had gathered as much, once her money had disappeared, along with her "partner."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Athos asked, gently. "Did you not trust me?"

She looked horrified, and angrily let go of his hand.

"Athos, of course I trust you! That was the problem. I thought you would think me weak. Or worse."

"Why on earth would I think that?" Athos said, incredulously.

She sighed, picking up her glass but not drinking.

"I have nothing to offer you."

"What are you talking about?" Athos said, his voice breaking.

She did not answer, merely looked away.

"Look," Porthos interjected, firmly. "This isn't the place to discuss this. Our hotel isn't far. Neither is your house, Ninon. Let's all go back to Amsterdam. To _Epiph__a__ny_, yeah? Then I'll make myself scarce while you two talk."

"That's a good idea," Athos replied, loathe to spend the night in Paris, now that he had found Ninon. He wanted time to talk to her, preferably on the houseboat, where their best memories had recently been made.

He held his breathe while she thought about Porthos's suggestion. She looked like she wanted to run, but instead, she finished her drink and, much to Athos's relief, agreed. After briefly splitting up to collect bags, they met up at the Gare du Nord station and took a high-speed Thalys train back to Amsterdam, taking the opportunity of having a meal onboard. The atmosphere was still tense between Athos and Ninon but at least they were looking at each other. Porthos, at least, was happy not to be flying again.

Five hours later, they were walking along the canal toward the houseboat. Porthos side-glanced Athos a few times, but Athos was deep in thought. They arrived back onboard, and Porthos picked up his bag and went into Athos's bedroom to change his clothes.

Looking around the boat, Ninon had to admit to herself that she was happy to be back. Athos nodded absently at her offer to make coffee and sank down at his desk, logging onto his laptop to check the unlikely event that the Paris police had got back to him. Not in the mood to look at his business emails, he decided to close the page, ready to log out.

Before he did so, he took one last look at the CCTV photograph. Ninon came up and placed the coffee in front of him. As she stood, a small gasp escaped her and she leant over. Reaching across, she turned the laptop toward her.

Porthos came out as she put her hand to her mouth.

"Why didn't I see it before!" she cried.

"What is it?" Athos asked, looking up at her, aware of Porthos coming around to look at the screen too.

Staring at the image, she pointed at the doorway of the bar the two men were standing in front of. In the shadows, there was a man partially hidden by cigarette smoke.

"That's Bertrand!" she said, bracing her hands on the desk top.

"Are you sure?" Athos asked. They had not met the man, but Ninon was adamant.

"As sure as I am standing here," she replied, her voice low with anger. "I've been nagging him to stop smoking those filthy cigarettes for a long time," she added.

"We need to tell the police," Athos said, as the implication sank in.

"No," Porthos said firmly from behind them. "Not yet."

"What do you mean?" Athos asked, staring at his friend.

"Won't hurt to keep this to ourselves for a while. They aren't exactly rushing to close this case."

"What are you intending?" Ninon asked.

"Yes, Porthos," Athos asked, pointedly, "What _are_ you intending?"

"Gonna go back to Paris and visit that bar," Porthos said. "See if they know him."

"Then what?" Athos asked, though he already knew the answer.

Porthos ignored him and headed back into the bedroom, before emerging with his bag."

"You're not going tonight surely, Porthos," Ninon said. "We've only just returned."

"I'm just goin' back to that nice hotel in Dam Square for the night. No room for me here, now," he winked at Athos and Ninon. "I'll head back to Paris first thing in the mornin'."

"I'll come with you," Athos said, but Porthos shook his head as he headed out.

"Stay," he growled. "You two, sort yerselves out," he shouted over his shoulder, before turning and giving them a knowing look. "I'll be in touch."

With that, he was gone, leaving Athos and Ninon alone.

"What do you think?" Ninon said absently, watching as Porthos closed the door behind him, his boots echoing on the deck.

"I think we should do as he says," Athos murmured, turning her around.

**To be continued ...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Porthos had seen the address of the bar from the CCTV log at the police station. No doubt at some point and in their own time, the police would pay it a visit, but Porthos was already on his way to track down Bertrand Poulier, Ninon's business partner.

The bartender was obliging, once amply rewarded for the information. His bar was a nice place. No doubt he didn't like the clientele Poulier brought through the doors. Before long, and armed with an address, Porthos thanked him and set out.

Two hours later, and after applying his lock-picking skills, he was sitting in the dark in the kitchen when Poulier came in. Poulier had saved a very nicely appointed house for himself, judging by the neighbourhood, Porthos thought as he looked around.

Patiently waiting while the man made his way to the kitchen, Porthos stood up and flexed his muscles, taking his place next to the light switch.

Poulier staggered back when he saw the large shadow in front of him.

"We 'aven't met, Poulier, but I'd like to rectify that," Porthos growled, flicking on the light, before carefully explaining that he and his friends were previous tenants of his holiday rental on Rue Ferou. Without explaining more, he let the realisation sink in.

If Poulier recognised him, he didn't give himself away, but Porthos saw him size him up and also saw the moment Poulier realised he came far short of any defence against the large stranger in his kitchen.

At first, he bluffed, and Porthos let him. Eventually, he ran out of indignant exclamations. He could see Porthos was getting angrier. He pulled out a chair and sank into it, defiantly staring at Porthos and taking out a cigarette.

"You seem like a man whose made a pig's ear of 'is finances," Porthos said, staring at Poulier.

"Seems to me," Porthos continued, holding up his hand to forestall any comment from the man sitting across from him, "You found yourself needin' money. And, being the weasel you are, you decided to scam innocent people. Not only that, but you've not been averse to using Grievous Bodily Harm," he finished, emphasising the last three words.

"You are mistaken," the man spat out. "I've hurt no-one," he added, searching his pockets for a light.

"You sanctioned it, though," Porthos growled. "Those two thugs of yours who attacked my friend, they weren't gentle."

"I repeat, Monsieur, I don't know what or who you are talking about," the man said, pushing the chair back.

Porthos leaned across the table and snatched the unlit cigarette from his mouth, grabbing him by the throat before he could get to his feet.

"Sit _Down_," he growled.

Terrified and gasping for breath, the man complied.

Porthos slowly pushed a photograph across the kitchen counter. It showed the two thugs who had attacked Athos.

"What's this?" Poulier blustered.

Porthos tapped the photograph; "Look carefully, _Bertrand_," he said. "This figure in the doorway, behind the cigarette smoke, is you. Your ugly mug is pretty recognisable to those who know you."

Poulier frowned and then he looked up at Porthos.

"Your partner, Ninon de Larroque, recognised you.

"Now," Porthos continued, his voice menacingly low. "You want to tell me what's been goin' on?" he added, cracking his knuckles. "No? Well, let me fill you in.

"You owned the house on Rue Ferou, where we stayed. I've been asking around. Seems some of the people who rented _that_ house and some of your other properties have been robbed in the last year or two. You have got quite a nice little scheme going on."

"You can't prove anything," Poulier said, "And this just means I was in the same bar as those two," he said, pushing the photo back toward Porthos. "I'll deny it."

"Funny that, how the police didn't work it out," Porthos said. "Who are you payin' off? Police corruption. That's big," he added, reaching over and again grabbing Poulier by his shirt and pulling him forward;

"And," he growled, "Ninon is happy to testify that this _is_ you and that those two are the same thugs who attacked my friend, that same morning," Porthos nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Bertrand's face. "_My very good friend_." he growled.

"And, speakin' of Ninon, it was only a matter of time before she found out about you. We know about your non-existent investment. Things must 'ave been gettin' pretty desperate for you. So, what have you done with her money?"

Over the next hour, Bertrand Poulier talked and he named names.

Later, they would find out that Poulier was greedy and arrogant. He worked at all levels to commit his crimes. His wealthier tenants were targeted and accosted for cards and access to bank accounts. Athos was not carrying a wallet on the morning Poulier sent his thugs after him, so they couldn't steal from him, but some clients had been cleaned out. That was just the least of his criminal activities. Others, more lucratively, were blackmailed; people on holiday or away on business, often lulled into a sense of false security took risks, and Poulier readily exploited them.

Ironically, it was the simple street robberies that finally uncovered his activities. He had targeted the wrong person. And in targeting Athos and then stealing from his own partner, Ninon, without care for her ruination, as far as Porthos was concerned, he was scum.

When Porthos had what he wanted, he released him, but before the man could sit back, Porthos delivered an uppercut to his jaw, sending the man flying backward into oblivion.

Reaching for his phone, he rang the police. "Let's hope I wasn't right about you payin' them off," he muttered, as he waited to be put through.

Then, he rang Athos and told him it was over; Poulier had confessed and he was waiting for the police to arrive.

Ninon was heartbroken, once the sorry tale was finally confirmed. Bertrand had betrayed her, ruined her deal, taken her money and orchestrated the attack on Athos. Not to mention all the other people who had suffered after dealing with him in good faith.

"The streets will be a lot safer now," Athos said, as he reassured her.

"On the morning you were attacked," she told Athos, as Porthos's news sank in, "Bertrand rang me and we argued. I was so angry. He was stalling about our deal. That was why I was still on the street, when I saw you being attacked.

"Normally, I would have stayed back and simply called the police," she continued. "But something made me want to stop them. Something drew me across the road."

"I don't suppose they expected me to put up a fight either," Athos replied. "If those two had not wanted Thomas's watch, I probably wouldn't have."

"Do you think we were meant to meet?" Ninon asked him.

"You asked me in the hospital if I believed in fate," he replied. "Perhaps I do."

oOo

Later:

Re-acquainted, and, as Porthos requested, "sorted," Ninon and Athos lay with their arms wrapped around each other.

"Be my business partner, Ninon," he said, suddenly.

"Your business partner?" she replied, in confusion.

"Why not? "It's not as if I hadn't been thinking about it. My clients would like to see what the diamonds they are considering buying would look like on a beautiful woman."

"You think I'm a trophy?!" she snapped.

He had expected her initial response to his idea.

"If you don't want to do it, hire someone who will," he said, simply. "We both travel to the client, wherever in the world they are. Once there, hire someone local to the client. Work _with_ me, Ninon. Not for me."

"Athos," she sighed.

"Be my partner," Athos repeated.

"What? _How_?" Ninon said, wearily, pushing her hair off her face turning to face him.

"I am only interested in the acquisition of diamonds," he replied. "I specialise in hand-cut stones. Clients often ask to see them made up and displayed and what better way than at a woman's throat, or wrist? Was it not you who told me there are so many wonderful things to explore in this life? So, spread your wings, now, my angel," he said, "There is much to be discovered."

"I wish I had met you ten years ago," she said, staring into his green eyes.

He laughed briefly.

"I doubt we would have connected quite so thoroughly," he replied, moving her hair aside and kissing her neck.

"As I said," he continued, "If you don't want to wear the diamonds, hire someone."

"No," she said, firmly, and he felt his heart sink.

"_I'll_ wear them," she whispered. "I'll gladly be your partner."

"I'm so pleased, darling," Athos said, pulling her into an embrace.

"This is not a pity offer, is it?" she asked, suddenly, pulling back.

"God, no!" he huffed. "You are a formidable business woman. I would not dare."

"Not so formidable that Bertrand couldn't swindle me," she said.

"You took your eye off the ball, that's all," Athos replied.

She reached up and rested her palm against his cheek.

"I had good reason to be distracted," she said.

"We should celebrate," he laughed.

"What do you have in mind?" she replied, raising an elegant eyebrow.

"I can think of one or two things," he murmured, pulling the sheet over their heads.

She squealed with laughter.

It was music to his ears.

oOo

**End of Part Two. **

**To be continued…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Part Three**

**Chapter Eleven**

The next few months were a whirlwind, as Athos and Ninon flew to client's homes and events.

While Athos negotiated, Ninon modelled a wide tantalising array of necklaces, bracelets and rings. She wore the stones simply, without embellishment. Not to make herself more beautiful but the stones. She was an extension of _them_. Granted, they were beautiful, though they were often bought by people with more money than sense, but Athos had other irons in the fire. He was a philanthropist, and she knew she only knew the half of it. He was funny and intelligent and so, so gentle. There was a streak of recklessness about him, but that only added to the excitement.

Athos's designers were delighted and work came in at a heady rate. She charmed and she challenged, and the clients were enthralled by her. Consequently, Athos and Ninon appeared in society papers and were in great demand; their photographs adorning many high-end magazines. Athos scheduled the work to give them a months break every now and then, and they enjoyed the pleasures that a particular country gave them.

Ninon's woes were left far behind. Bertrand Poulier was sentenced and his properties were sold for repayment to his victims. Ninon had not received the full amount he had stolen from her, but now that she and Athos were in partnership, that was not a pressing concern. She still had her interior design business and work was coming her way from plaudits she received as Athos's partner, as Athos had thought would be the case from the moment the idea of making her his partner had come to him. It had been a means to an end and his gamble had paid off.

After a heady few months, they arrived back in Amsterdam, relaxed and happy and took a cab to the start of the canal where _Epiph__a__ny _was moored, after stopping for a few groceries. Ninon had promised to cook. They would eat on the top deck under the stars and Athos found himself looking forward to relaxing with her by his side. The company he used to look after the houseboat in his absence should have been in and cleaned and put fresh sheets on the bed, along with an indecent amount of house plants, Athos having come around to the idea that Ninon knew what she was talking about, and, _if _he could keep the plants alive, then perhaps they would become a permanent feature.

Walking along the canal, she felt him tense.

"We're being followed," he murmured. "Keep walking."

"Why would anyone follow you?" she asked, turning to look behind her, but he gently tugged her arm and she turned back and kept pace with him.

"They may not be following me," he replied. "They may be following you."

"Me?" she whispered harshly.

"Well, you keep company with a diamond merchant. That's all I know. Perhaps you need to consider it."

"You seem very nonchalant," she hissed.

"It happens. That's why I am very careful and am not foolish enough to carry any stones unnecessarily," he replied, looking pointedly at the necklace she was wearing.

Her hand flew up to her throat.

"Oh!" she cried softly. "I'm so used to them, I forgot I was wearing it!"

"They are just opportunists," he said softly.

"I have an idea," she smiled.

"What?" he asked, warily.

"We split up."

"No!" he said firmly, tightening his grip on her arm.

"Yes," she replied. "I'll go this way, you go left," she whispered, quickly unfastening the necklace and dropping it into his hand.

"You are too stubborn," he said.

"So are you," she smiled, and before he could stop her, she ran.

He ducked into an alleyway and let the night swallow him.

Half an hour later, they fell through the door of _Epiph__a__ny_, laughing.

"They were boys!" she gasped, holding her hand out for the necklace.

He dropped it into her hand.

"Be more careful," he warned. "Boys grow into men."

"Are the groceries intact?" she asked coyly.

"Of course. There was no need to run," he added.

Unlocking the inner door, they both stepped down into the living area of the boat. Athos dropped his bag and took the groceries into the kitchen as Ninon kicked off her heels. Pulling his laptop across the kitchen counter, he logged on and then set it aside. He was expecting a Skype call from Aramis, though he hadn't told her, wanting to surprise her while she was cooking.

"It's good to be back," she sighed, stretching, before she noticed the plants, set around the room. They did, indeed, soften the masculine appearance and she was touched that Athos had organised it.

"Oh, it looks beautiful!" she cried.

"Before you ask,"Athos said, "I'm no gardener. I merely asked the agency to put some plants in here. I left it to them to choose."

"Well, they did a good job," she said as she picked up a potted gardenia from the bookcase.

As she replaced it she heard a muffled curse as the door to the fridge slammed.

"That's a first," he said, turning toward her.

"What?"

"I'm out of champagne," he frowned. "I asked them to include a Bollinger. Looks like they forgot."

"An oversight, I'm sure," Ninon said, slipping her shoes back on.

"What are you doing?" he said, just as the phone rang.

She poured him a whisky from the decanter and set it on his desk, miming for him to take the call.

"I'll go and get some," she replied, as he picked up the phone.

"No, you don't have to do that," he said, as he asked the caller to hold, but she had slipped her jacket on and leant over to kiss his cheek as he held the phone to his ear.

"It's not far," she laughed.

"Alright, but go to the Bar Jacques, it's the closest," he said, pulling his wallet out and handing it to her. "Take what you need."

She made a devilish delighted face at being handed his wallet and he rolled his eyes.

He started on his call, only to stop again and shout at her as she was half way out of the door.

"Get two bottles!"

She spun around and blew him a kiss and was gone.

He dropped into his chair while he took the call.

"Hold on," he said, after a few minutes; pulling his diary out and searching for a pen. He still preferred the old-fashioned way of recording his appointments.

Pulling open his desk drawer he froze.

There, wrapped in a black ribbon was a small bunch of fresh forget-me-nots.

**To be continued ...**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Many thanks to all for reading and reviewing.

oOo

**Chapter Twelve**

At the sight of the small bouquet of familiar flowers, Athos's blood ran cold in his veins. He picked them up and stared at them, uncomprehending. Before he could fully register, a familiar voice cut through him. A voice he had not heard for some time, but which still had the power to upend his world.

"You are a creature of habit, husband."

He slowly turned to look over his shoulder as _Anne_ sauntered out of his bedroom, a glass of champagne in his hand - _his_ champagne, he noted;

"A whisky at your side as you do your paperwork," she added. "You should perhaps smell it before you drink it, though," she sighed. "Alas, I could not disguise the smell, though obviously, in this case, it did not matter."

She hadn't changed. His mind tumbled back through the years to the first time he had seen her. But much had happened since that first meeting, and seeing her _here, _in his own home, did nothing for his sanity. A dozen scenarios flitted into his mind, none of which made sense, since he thought she was dead.

"What are you talking about?" he said, eyeing the glass of whisky with suspicion, as her words penetrated his brain, though he continued to stare at her in confusion.

"A mild sedative, to slow your reflexes," she said. "While we wait for _Ninon_. That is her name, is it not? I do hope the papers didn't spell it wrong."

"This cannot be," he said, shaking his head. "They said you were ..."

Finally, she stepped fully into the light.

"_Dead?_ Obviously not. Oh, those two boys were working for me, by the way," she said. "A little … distraction, to allow me time to gain access to your inner sanctum. It's very nice, by the way. Very _you."_

"You were very easy to find," she added.

"I wasn't hiding," he replied, tersely, throwing the small bouquet of blue flowers across the desk.

"Porthos's trips here," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "The agency you pay to look after the place," she said. "They didn't exactly name you as a client, but it was obvious which boat they were crowing about when I rang to ask what experience they had with up-market houseboats."

"Ingenious," he muttered, unconvincingly, as he slammed his desk drawer.

Her anger flared as she picked up the flowers and tossed them into the bin.

"I've lost my taste for forget-me-nots," she said in response, her lip curling.

"You've made your point," he said.

"Oh, I'm only just getting started," she snarled.

She reached into her pocket and he tensed, but she merely withdrew a folded page.

Carefully unfolding it, she dropped it on his desk in front of him. He was beginning to have a little trouble focussing, but he shook his head and pulled it over towards him.

It was a photograph of him with Ninon in Rio at a glittering function, at which Ninon outshone all the women in the room, even though that night, she wore no jewellery at all.

"Quite the high life you two are living," Anne said, imperiously.

"Leave her out of this," Athos growled.

"I'm your wife!"

"You forfeited that role!" he yelled. "Why are you even here? What is it you want Anne?"

"To collect what is mine," she replied quietly, dropping down gracefully onto the seating that ran under the porthole opposite his desk. "All those years, while I played the dutiful wife. I think you owe me."

"I gave you everything," he said, his speech slurring slightly. "I owe you nothing more."

"But everything _then_, pales into insignificance to everything _now_, my dear Athos," she replied, tightly, looking around the plush interior of the houseboat.

"Thomas ..." he began, but before he could continued, she leapt up and picked up a book from his desk and slammed it into his head.

oOo

A short while later, the outer double doors opened and Ninon came in, launching into a tale of how the bar owner, Jacques, had raised an eyebrow at her having control of Athos's wallet.

"Jacques says I have you where I want you," she laughed as she backed in with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

As she turned and flicked her hair from her face, she froze at the sight of a woman, sitting languidly on Athos's desk. She had her hand tangled in his hair and she yanked his head back. Athos was barely conscious, and Ninon's breath left her.

"Look who's back, Athos," the woman said, in a sing-song voice. "Oh, more champagne. Lovely! Although I doubt you'll want any."

"Who the hell are you!" Ninon asked, carefully putting one of the bottles down.

"I'd put them both down, Ninon," Anne said. "We don't want any accidents, do we?"

Just then Athos shook himself free and his eyes opened.

"Ninon, go!" he groaned.

"Why, Athos, where are your manners?" The woman said. "She's only just arrived. And bearing gifts too."

"You have me," Athos said. "Let her go."

"This is ..." Ninon said, but before she could finish, Anne spoke again;

"Anne, the Comtesse de la Fere. His wife. I'm sure he's told you all about me. How I murdered his brother?"

Ninon felt her legs go weak. She sank down onto a chair, her eyes on Athos.

"What have you done to him?" she said.

"Just a little sedative, while I search. I didn't expect you. But then, you have been rather joined at the hip for the past few months, haven't you?"

"If you are after money," Ninon said, quietly, "There is nothing here. Athos doesn't keep anything here."

"Oh, please. This is Amsterdam," Anne laughed, coldly. "Diamond capital of the world. This is his head office. There's a safe here somewhere. Perhaps you'll be good enough to enlighten me. Money is," she added, "part of this."

Ninon's eyes swept around the area, halting on Athos who did his best to hold her gaze. Finally, she drew herself up and met Anne's cold green eyes.

"I have no idea if, or where a safe would be," she replied, coldly.

In response, Anne clicked open her handbag and withdrew a small rectangular case. Very slowly, she opened it and reached inside. Taking out a loaded syringe, her eyes flicked up to Ninon's.

"Don't make me angry, Ninon," she said, pleasantly. "Though, I can work with that," she added, thoughtfully.

"In fact, it might be fun."

**To be continued ...**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Athos was still sitting at his desk, but Ninon could see he was fighting whatever Anne had given him. She could only hope that he had not taken the full amount. At the moment, he looked very unfocussed, but just as Ninon was beginning to despair, his eyes flicked to the left.

Anne was moving away from the desk now and approaching her. Ninon followed Athos's gaze and looked toward the kitchen. She had no idea what he meant; grab a knife? And then, she saw his lap top on the kitchen counter and understood.

There, in the top right-hand corner of the screen, was Aramis. He and Athos must have arranged a Skype call.

Aramis was seeing and hearing everything and her heart rose up to her throat. She had to stop him from speaking and alerting the mad woman who currently shared their living space, syringe held in her hand.

Ninon carefully looked back at Athos and gave him an imperceptible nod. She moved back, angling her body away from the laptop on the kitchen top, so that Anne's attention was fully on her.

"What is it you want, Anne?" Ninon said loudly, so that Aramis was forewarned. In her peripheral vision, she saw him jerk and then raise his hand, moving his finger in a circle; the signal for her to keep talking. He then moved out of view of the camera, though she prayed he could still see the houseboat living area from across the Atlantic. She sent up a prayer that he could help, even from over three thousand miles away.

"Just what I am entitled to," Anne replied, as she sauntered closer. "As his wife. 50% of … _everything_ … is it not?"

"In a divorce court," Ninon replied, deciding now to provoke Anne in order to take her attention fully. "But good luck with that. By your own confession you murdered his brother. I'm sure you won't want to set foot in a court of law."

"Well, to be precise, I confessed nothing" Anne sighed. "Just open the safe and I'll call it quits. For now."

Athos was now looking fixedly over Ninon's shoulder. Involuntarily, she looked at the bookcase to her left, and catching the glance, Anne slowly smiled.

She raised the syringe and moved quickly to take Ninon's arm, spinning her around, as she brought the syringe up to her throat.

"The bookcase? How predictable. I could have saved myself some trouble. But I suppose you are strapped for space here, Athos," Anne said, without looking back at him, before turning her attention back to Ninon, her thumb on the plunger.

"This is deadly if it enters your bloodstream, dear. Better open the safe. And be quick about it. I haven't got all day," she hissed. "And I haven't fully decided which one of you will watch the other die first."

"I don't know where it it!" Ninon cried, her eyes frantically scanning the books.

Keeping the syringe to Ninon's throat, Anne reached out and curled her fingers around three of the books, pulling them off the shelf. They hit the floor with a thud and she kicked them aside.

"Then I suggest you start looking," she said, her voice deadly calm.

Ninon had no idea if there was a safe behind the books but Athos had looked at the bookcase and she only hoped he was focussed enough to be sending her a message in order to save her life.

Anne had stepped back, giving Ninon room, but she was still close enough to plunge the syringe into her neck and so she doubled her efforts to pull the books from their shelves, aware that some of them were extremely valuable but having no option but to watch as they cascaded down on either side of her.

Beginning to despair, Ninon held her breath as the last row of books fell from their shelves.

And there, behind the last row of books, a small white metal safe came into view.

Ninon clung to the shelf in relief, as Anne turned back to Athos, who was now slumped over his desk.

"Combination!" she hissed, clicking her fingers.

Athos lifted his head and glared at her.

"You are in no position to decline my _request_, husband," Anne sneered, the syringe poised one more.

Ninon could see the laptop screen was still in view, but there was no sign of Aramis. She looked back at Athos.

"We have no option, Athos," she replied, her voice firm.

Athos pushed himself back in his chair, and pulled himself along the length of it. Picking up a pen, he managed to scribble a series of numbers on a page of his diary, before slowly pushing the book across the desk.

Anne pushed Ninon forward, one hand in her hair and the other at her throat.

Ninon gave Athos a sad look as she tore the page from the diary and held it up. Anne did not take it, but merely pulled Ninon back to the bookcase.

"We've wasted enough time," she hissed. "Just open the damn safe."

Ninon pushed the numbers onto the keypad and turned the handle, swinging the small door open.

After a brief pause, she sighed.

"It's empty," she said.

With a hiss, Anne pushed her aside and reached into the confines of the safe. Her fingers curled around a black velvet pouch, which she pulled out of the safe.

"Nice try," Anne smiled, undoing the draw string with her teeth and looking inside at the glittering contents.

"These will do nicely," she said, pressing her lips together.

It was then that Athos did an incredible thing.

He launched himself up and threw himself at Anne, pulling her away.

Ninon fell to the side with the force of the impact of the two bodies. Grasping the bag of diamonds, Anne screamed and, dazed, Ninon saw the moment when she held the syringe aloft before plunging it down, into Athos's thigh.

Athos staggered back, pulling the syringe from his muscle and throwing it behind him with an angry roar.

Anne rose to her feet, the shock of the collision gone as she turned to Ninon.

"You'll need a doctor now," she continued, her voice now eerily calm, as Athos collapsed behind her. "I've overdosed him somewhat, with the Diazepam _and_ the Curare."

She dropped the velvet pouch into her bag.

"Better hurry," she said, as she walked out; leaving Athos and Ninon staring after her in despair.

**To be continued …**

oOo

**A/N:** Sincere apologies, I will have to leave Athos and Ninon in limbo as I am away for a week. Sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Sorry for leaving them like that. I'm back in the saddle now.

oOo

**Chapter Fourteen**

Ninon hurled herself at the laptop and shouted for Aramis.

"Here, cheri!" he said immediately, as he came into view. "I heard most of it."

"She stabbed Athos with a syringe!" Ninon gasped. "She said she'd overdosed him with a sedative and Curare."

"How the hell did she get hold of that?" he said.

"Aramis!_"_ she cried, bringing his attention back.

"Don't panic. It's used over here in surgery. I've called the police and an ambulance is on its way," he said. "Show me, where the needle entered."

She grabbed the laptop and put it on the floor next to Athos, who was sitting with his back to his desk, placing her hand on his thigh.

Aramis relaxed a little. Anne had plunged the needle into a large muscle. If it had entered his bloodstream, it would have proved deadly.

"Aramis, he's becoming paralysed, I can't move him!" she cried, as she held his hand in hers. There was still some strength in it, but she felt it waning.

"How is his breathing?" Aramis asked, hating to talk as if his friend was not there, hearing every word, but having little choice.

"Shallow," she replied.

"Pulse?"

"Thready," she said, her fingers pressed to Athos's throat.

"Monitor his breathing for me, cheri, the ambulance is coming."

"And keep him awake."

"How?" she asked.

"Pinch him, or press your knuckles into his breastbone," Aramis responded.

She dropped to her knees next to Athos and reached out to lay her palm gently against his jaw.

She saw a frown appear as his eyes met hers and she wanted to pull him into an embrace, to bury her face in his neck and smell his fragrance, to hear his voice; and in that moment she realised if this went wrong, she may never hear his voice again.

"Aramis!" she cried without taking her eyes from him, her hand tightening as his loosened in hers.

And then, she heard Aramis's voice, firm and strong, asking questions and she was swept along.

"You said she gave him a sedative?"

"Yes, Diazepam," Ninon replied, as she cradled Athos's head, her eyes on the laptop screen.

"Feel his diaphragm, cheri," he said, putting his hand on his own mid-section to demonstrate. "Is it rigid?"

She did as he indicated;

"No," she said, as she pressed her fingers into the muscles of Athos's abdomen.

"That's good. A sedative was always given in surgery prior to using Curare. She's done him a favour. If the diaphragm is paralysed, he would not be able to breathe. That means you can get air into him."

"How?" she cried. "And please don't say that woman did him a _favour_!" she seethed.

"My apologies. Mouth to mouth, if necessary, until the ambulance arrives."

Athos was limp, his muscles no longer responding. His hand had slipped from hers as she listened to Aramis's CPR instructions, hoping she wouldn't have to do that. At the same time, Aramis picked up his conversation with the emergency services in Amsterdam out of Ninon's earshot.

To his horror, they told him the ambulance was not able to get through due to a massive pile-up on the motorway. It had been diverted. The police would attend when they could.

Ninon would have to help Athos to breathe until the Curare wore off.

"Can you see the syringe, Ninon?" he was asking now, needing to determine how much was in Athos's system.

Athos was still breathing for himself, the sedative doing its work, though it was shallow. His eyes were on her as she frantically cast around the floor for the syringe he had hurled away when he had pulled it from his leg.

Seeing it, she scooted across the wooden boards and carefully picked it up.

"Here," she said, holding it up so that Aramis could see. "Half full," she said with relief.

_Half empty, _he thought. He decided to keep the information about the ambulance to himself for a while. He did not want her distracted or worse, giving up. He would need to support her now, until help came. Little did she know, but he was all she had.

"Let me speak to him, Ninon," Aramis said now.

Ninon pulled the laptop across Athos's thighs and held it there, as he sat slumped with his back to his desk.

Athos saw the face of his friend and his eyes flicked back to Ninon, crouching in front of him.

"Aramis is with us, Athos," she said, softly, grasping his hand once more. "He is going to tell us what to do."

Then, Athos was looking at the screen on his lap.

"You've looked better," Aramis quipped, from three thousand miles away.

Athos blinked slowly and Aramis began to speak;

"Athos, listen carefully. This may get worse before it gets better. Help is on the way but you will lose the use of your limbs. Very simply, Curare paralyses the nerves to the muscles in the body. It _will_ wear off, but in the meantime, we are going to help you to breathe so just let Ninon help you. Don't fight her. You just need to keep breathing but it will become harder and when you can no longer do it, Ninon will take over. Then the nice ambulance people will arrive and cart you off and check you over. I am on the line here and I'm experienced and I know what to do. So just be a good boy and do as you are told. It's going to be a scary ride and you may feel like panicking, but focus on my voice. Yes?"

Athos used the last of his control to nod.

And then, it became a living nightmare.

As his breathing became laboured, Aramis suggested she lay him down. It was fairly easy for her to ease him over and then pull him onto his back along the polished wooden floor.

She reached behind her for a cushion to make Athos more comfortable.

Seeing the open book on the seating bench, she swallowed, remembering Athos wandering around the boat bare foot, shirt untucked, with his nose in the book he had been reading for several days. Pushing a sandwich into his hand when he forgot to eat. His crinkling smile when he looked up, green eyes full of warmth, as he took a bite and then went straight back to his book, much to her amusement.

Would she see his smile again?

She was brought back from her reverie by a brief, very weak squeeze of her hand.

Athos's eyes were wide as his breathing slowed.

"Give him air, Ninon," Aramis said quickly, and she leant forward and followed Aramis's instructions, pinching his nose and blowing air into his mouth. Then she began to push steadily on his diaphragm for a few beats.

Aramis was with her, counting and instructing. Athos was still breathing on his own but his eyes had closed. She suspected he was becoming light-headed from lack of oxygen.

She could not begin to think how it must feel to be unable to move, to feel yourself slowly suffocating. The sheer effort he was expending trying to breathe and keeping calm was taking its toll. His usually expressive face was reduced to a blank, only his eyes were bright, whether from the effects of the drug or fear, she did not know. Athos was brave, she knew, but this was a terrible thing he was having to endure.

In between breaths, she whispered to him, trying to keep him grounded.

"You're not alone. Stay with me, darling."

Twice, she pressed her knuckles into his breastbone and his eyes flew open. At least he could still do that; communicate with his eyes.

Aramis gave her words of encouragement, and together, they were doing it. They were keeping him going.

"Where's the ambulance!" she cried, twenty minutes later, sitting back on her haunches; sweat on her forehead and palms. She should turn the damned heating down, but she could not leave his side.

"Cheri, there is something I should tell you ..." Aramis began, warily, seeing how capable Ninon was, but needing to tell her.

Before he could finish, Ninon interrupted him in panic;

"Aramis!" she cried, "He's fading …!"

Athos's head had dropped to the side, his eyes firmly closed. To her horror, she saw that his lips were tinged with blue.

"He's not getting enough air, cheri," Aramis came back, instantly alert. "You need to …"

To her horror, the screen suddenly went blank.

The connection had broken,

Aramis was gone and she was alone.

**To be continued ...**


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

_The connection was broken. Aramis was gone._

Without leaving Athos's side, Ninon looked around frantically for his phone to call Aramis. Scanning the top of his desk, it was there, but when she leaned over and grabbed it, to her dismay, when she turned it over the battery was dead.

Stifling a frustrated scream, she leaned over Athos once more and tapped his face. There was no response and his lips were definitely tinged with a blue hue. Remembering Aramis's last words before their connection was lost, she began once more to follow Aramis's instructions, his voice in her head. It was working, but it was exhausting and Aramis's last words were that he wasn't getting enough air. She did not know what more she could do. She could feel tears of sheer frustration welling in her eyes, which only served to make her angry. She had never felt so alone. She longed to try raising Aramis on the laptop, needing his calm reassurance, but she dare not stop what she was doing.

She laboured on, pushing her weight through her hands into Athos's abdomen and sharing her air with him.

Then, just when she felt as if she had reached the end of her tether, there was a noise outside.

_An engine._

It stopped outside. She had a sudden fear that it was Anne, somehow returned to finish what she had started. She looked frantically around for a weapon, before berating herself and taking a deep breath;

The ambulance! They were here, at last!

"Athos!" she cried, "The ambulance is here."

She gently touched his dishevelled hair, willing him to hear her. He did not respond though and she cautiously pushed herself to her feet to make room for, _hopefully_, the medics. Footsteps crossed the outside deck and a shadow appeared at the frosted glass window in the outer door before it was pushed open.

A black-clad figure quickly entered, wearing a motorcycle helmet. The figure stood for a moment, looking at her before she saw his head tilt to Athos on the floor beside her.

The man flipped the visor on his helmet and pulled off his gloves.

"Paramedic," he said firmly, dropping a backpack from his shoulder in one swift movement and walking quickly toward her.

"Oh, thank God!" Ninon cried. "Is the ambulance here?"

"Just me," the man said apologetically. "There's been a massive smash on the motorway and all ambulances have been diverted.

"What?" she whispered, hardly believing what he was saying.

"The caller was informed," the man continued, as he pulled his helmet off, his long dark hair spilling almost to his shoulders. He tucked it behind his ears, an action he had obviously done a hundred times.

"d'Artagnan," he said, as he placed the helmet on Athos's desk. "You are? ..."

"Ninon," she whispered. "That must be what Aramis was trying to tell me, before we were cut off," she said, her voice low as she watched him unpack his bag.

"Aramis?" he murmured, as he quickly pulled various pieces of equipment out and placed them neatly on the floor.

"He was here," she said, "but we lost the signal."

She knew she wasn't making sense but she was running on adrenaline now, and bitterly disappointed that the ordeal wasn't over. They would still have to keep Athos breathing until the drug wore off.

d'Artagnan gave her a confused look.

"Skype," she said, by way of explanation, nodding her head to the open laptop, the black screen mocking her. "He's a friend. A surgeon and he knows about Curare."

"That's fortunate," the young man murmured. He almost added, "Because I know nothing about it," but he kept that nugget to himself. The woman looked beyond exhausted, her eyes wide with fear.

She quickly explained what she had been doing, and that Aramis had said the Curare would wear off but he may asphyxiate if his diaphragm stopped working. Then she explained about the sedative that had done the job of relaxing him. All the time, she continued her task of pressing, and breathing, while d'Artagnan pulled a bag valve mask from his pack and quickly began to assemble it.

"This will help," he said, not looking up from his task, his hair escaping from behind his ear and shielding the side of his face.

There had been no time to take the patient's blood pressure, and whatever checks he would have liked to do had been shelved in favour of keeping him breathing. He gently fitted the clear mask over Athos's face and began to squeeze the bag. She watched intently as regulated air began to flow into Athos's lungs and after a few moments, she sat back.

The world stopped as her eyes filled.

She caught sight of the plants around the room, the abandoned champagne; watching d'Artagnan concentrating on counting breaths as he squeezed the bag. It should be more, but it all came down to that bag now, forcing air into paralysed lungs. She became mesmerized by the long, dark hair tucked behind his ear, as he concentrated on keeping a steady pace, a frown on his brow.

"Tell me about him," he murmured, glancing up at her.

"What?"

"Tell me about him," he repeated, the steady hiss of the air being squeezed through the bag a constant background now.

She knew that he was trying to distract her, but she seized on it.

"His name is Athos," she said, quietly.

"Your husband?"

"No," she whispered. _Partner, lover, friend._

He looked up again and read the range of emotions that flitted across her face.

"He's my life," she said, softly.

She told him then how Athos had saved her life. How he had found the strength to rise from his desk and pull his wife away from her, effectively saving her life. How Anne had then plunged the syringe into his leg and left them both to face the consequences. d'Artagnan listened intently.

"_We have him_," he said quietly. So confident, she believed him.

d'Artagnan did not feel quite as confident as he sounded though. He had no idea what Curare was when he was given the job, but despatch had briefed him quickly and told him there was someone at the site who had experience, so when he stepped onboard and saw only the exhausted woman, his heart sank. All he could do was what he was doing, in the hope that an ambulance would come, but he doubted it very much. It was the worst motorway accident for many years. Eight people had been reported dead by the time he had set off and many injured.

He and the woman, Ninon, were on their own. Time ground on.

He was invested in saving this man, but he was beginning to think this may not play out well, when there was a shout from outside and a police office entered.

Introducing himself as Officer Bram Daalman, he quickly took in the scene and came forward, kneeling next to d'Artagnan. d'Artagnan showed him what to do and then sat up. Ninon frowned at him but he explained he was just going back to his bike for something. He returned a few minutes later with an adrenaline kit. If Athos's heart stopped, he would need it.

The police officer and the paramedic settled into a rhythm, taking turns, before d'Artagnan moved to the desk. Sitting in front of the laptop he logged on. To his utter relief, the screen came to life and he searched quickly, with Ninon's help, for Aramis's Skype details. After what felt like an age, but was probably only a few minutes, Aramis was suddenly there, nose almost pressed to the screen.

"Oh, thank God!" he said, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know what happened, I have been trying to reconnect – what's going on? Who are _you_?" he said, words spilling out as he looked at the stranger, recognising a paramedic.

"d'Artagnan," the young man said, moving the screen around to let Aramis see what was happening on the floor of the houseboat. "This is Officer Daalman," he added, as Aramis took in the blonde policeman helping his friend.

Ninon heard Aramis's voice, firm and strong, now relating information to d'Artagnan and she was swept along, giving Athos into their care, far beyond her knowledge, her role now to hold his hand and tether him to her.

"It will eventually wear off," Aramis was saying, "but the risk is asphyxiation. And he has also been given a dose of Diazepam."

"He's had quite a night," d'Artagnan muttered, though he was listening intently and keeping an eye on the policeman, who continued to squeeze air through the bag.

For her part, Ninon had felt so helpless and now she had three skilled men doing their best to help.

Light-headed, she watched the policeman. She had not registered his name, but he was here, and Aramis was in the room with them and she was so _glad_ Aramis was sharing this, because she wouldn't have to tell him his best friend was dead and how would she tell Porthos if that happened? A sob escaped her as her thoughts tumbled around her head. She felt Athos's limp hand in hers and she tore her eyes from the policeman, back to his green eyes, open now above the mask and she took an unsteady breath of her own as another sob caught in her throat. She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers. She held his gaze as the minutes ticked by.

"Stay with me, darling," Ninon was whispering to Athos as d'Artagnan returned to his post next to Athos and gave her a shy relieved smile. His talk with Aramis had given him strength and he worked now to check his signs, as he took over, calling out his findings to Aramis, who continued to guide them through the path the Curare was taking. d'Artagnan knew what signs to look for now, to show the drug was wearing off. He hoped it would happen soon.

Ninon swept Athos' hair from his forehead and held her hand there, smiling through her tears.

"We have a date, remember? I don't want to lose you. I love you, so very much."

Athos gave her an anguished look, and then, he took a breath.

His head fell back and he struggled against the mask.

d'Artagnan tentatively lifted the mask as Athos pulled in air.

"He's breathing!" he called out to Aramis.

"Thank God," Aramis breathed. "Cheri, are you alright?" he called out to Ninon.

"He's breathing, Aramis!" Ninon said, not taking her eyes from Athos.

Athos frowned at her, but she suspected his thoughts were with her, not himself.

"History ..." he began;

"Repeating itself," she finished. "I know. Hush now. There's nothing for you to do but breathe."

She leant forward and kissed him, his lips no longer blue. As she pulled back, his eyes fluttered shut and Ninon shot d'Artagnan a look of panic.

"It's ok," he said, reassuringly, "He's just exhausted. Where's the bedroom, we should move him off the floor."

She waved to the doors at the end of the room and d'Artagnan and Officer Daalman gently moved Athos to his bed, following behind Ninon. She quickly pulled back the covers on the bed, thinking as she watched them lower him onto it that Athos would be none too pleased that she had left his shirt on to get creased, but she didn't care as he looked peaceful and she would not disturb him further.

She ran her fingers through his hair, gently arranging it on his forehead until he looked more like himself. Running her fingers down the side of his face, she traced his parted lips with her thumb. She loved his slightly uneven lips. Leaning forward, she dropped a soft lingering kiss on each of his closed eyelids before resting a hand on his chest and feeling the glorious rise and fall as he breathed for himself.

Pulling in a breath, she covered him over and turned, finding herself alone. The two men had given her privacy to reassure herself that Athos was alright. With a gentle smile, she straightened her unruly hair as best she could and went to join the men who had quietly and efficiently not only saved the man she loved but had given her the strength to endure the ordeal.

She said a few heartfelt words to Aramis, putting her hand to her lips and pressing it gently to the screen before logging out. Next, a hug for Bram, who promised to return to speak to them both in a few days.

That left d'Artagnan, who had packed up his bag and was now standing in front of her, rocking slightly on his heels and giving her a weary grin.

"Quite a night," he said, tilting his head and giving her an assessing look.

She sighed. "I could say I've had worse, but I haven't."

d'Artagnan nodded. "You should get some rest," he advised, softly.

"I should watch him," she replied, turning to look at the open bedroom door at the end of the living area.

"I'll do that," he said. "If you can tell me where the coffee is?"

"You're staying?" she responded, eyes wide.

"I'm off duty, may as well."

"He got to you," she smiled.

"Little bit," d'Artagnan laughed.

She showed him were the coffee was and went to sit in the nook. Too wired to sleep, she declined his offer of sleeping tablets and nursed the coffee he put in front of her until it went cold.

d'Artagnan disappeared into the bedroom to watch over Athos and left her to her thoughts. She would relieve him in a little while, but right now, she needed to be alone.

oOo

Ninon was sitting at the foot of the bed when Athos woke.

He blinked himself slowly awake, before looking at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

He was looking at her with such an open expression she felt a warmth spreading through her.

She nodded, and he seemed satisfied.

He turned his head. There was a young man with long dark hair sitting on his right, twisted around. He looked vaguely familiar. Then he saw the stethoscope around his neck and it came back to him with a sickening thud.

"Athos, this is d'Artagnan," Ninon said. "He stayed all night."

"To be fair, I was off duty at 1.00 am," d'Artagan explained. "Not back for a few days."

"No hospital?" Athos managed.

"Long story," d'Artagnan replied, with a sigh. Apparently, the death toll for the motorway smash had risen to ten.

"A policeman came," Ninon interjected. "He's coming back when you can speak to him. He was a great help too."

Athos nodded absently and held up his arm and flexed his fingers. Then he reached his hand up to his head and grimaced.

"That's dehydrated brain pain," d'Artagnan said, watching him.

Athos raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

"Is that a medical diagnosis?" he asked.

d'Artagnan returned the look and laughed. "It should be, shouldn't it?"

"It's about right," Athos replied, turning to look at Ninon;

"Anne?" he asked.

"Long gone, I hope," Ninon grimaced. "But she emptied your safe."

"Only stones," he whispered.

Ninon looked at d'Artagnan, but he was busy pulling out a blood pressure monitor.

"Athos, she must have taken a small fortune! Your business ..."

"No," Athos interrupted. "I mean they are only stones. Fake. That safe in the bookcase is a decoy."

"Smart," d'Artagnan muttered, before looking up in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said.

"Let's get you up a little," he added. "You need to take some fluids on board."

They each helped Athos slide up the bed a little and d'Artagnan poured water from a carafe they had found in a cupboard into a glass.

"Thank you," Athos grimaced.

"You're welcome," d'Artagnan said, as he handed the glass over to Ninon.

"No, I mean, _thank you_," Athos said. "For everything. You were thrown into the deep end, it seems."

d'Artagnan smiled a bright smile. "That's alright. I can write it up as a case study. Naming no names, of course," he added, quickly.

He slipped the cuff onto Athos's arm and both were silent while d'Artagnan took the reading, before giving Athos the thumbs-up.

"You're still studying?" Athos asked, eyebrows raised.

"No. Fully qualified paramedic. I'd just like to go further."

"You'll go a long way, I'm certain," Ninon said, nursing the glass of water.

"Maybe," d'Artagnan replied. "It's not easy to get into med school."

"Well, if there's anything we can do," Ninon smiled. "You and Aramis were wonderful last night."

"Aramis?" Athos asked, looking from one to the other. He really had little recollection of what had happened.

"Skype-Aramis," Ninon smiled. "You must have put a call into him, before it all happened.

"Yes, to surprise you," he remembered.

"Well, it worked," Ninon laughed. "He saw everything Anne did. He played his part wonderfully, keeping undercover but witnessing everything. It was Aramis who called the police and ambulance, from the States!"

"I was very grateful to him," d'Artagnan said, stowing his equipment in his backpack. "We had a chat earlier, before he logged off. He gave me his number. Said he'd see you both soon," he added, shyly.

"He's already planning a visit," Athos said. "Porthos too, probably."

Ninon could see Athos returning now, and knowing how independent he was, she curled his fingers around the glass of water.

"Drink," she said. "Don't worry if you make a mess," she added, mischievously.

He shot her a withering look.

"I never spill my drink," he growled.

He was definitely on the mend.

"I don't know how to thank you," Ninon suddenly said to d'Artagnan.

She shared a look with Athos.

"We can take him to dinner," Athos said, turning to d'Artagnan, "Inadequate, I know."

d'Artagnan looked at Ninon, who smiled and nodded her encouragement.

"It's perfect," d'Artagnan said. "You have no idea when I was last in a restaurant. I'm beginning to look like a pizza," he babbled.

Athos raised an eyebrow and looked amused.

"We can't have that," he murmured.

"Dress code?" d'Artagnan asked, looking a little doubtful now. These people obviously had money. Wherever they took him, he would be out of place.

"Smart casual," Athos replied. "I'll lend you a tie if you don't have one. Hell, I'll give you all of them," he said, waving his hand haphazardly toward his wardrobe.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan grinned. "But one will be sufficient."

"Good," Athos said. "Then it's a date," he added, wearily.

Ninon gently rubbed his forearm;

"Rest now, Athos," she said.

"I should go," d'Artagnan said, pulling his bag onto his shoulder.

As he rose, Ninon felt a little bereft after such an intense night, charged as it was by masculine energy. A night that had seemed so long, though now, on reflection, it seemed as though everything had contracted into a sharply focused bubble of fear; the outside world suspended while they awaited the outcome. While the universe conspired to set either her free, or grind her to dust; compelled to live without Athos, whose life was now so entwined with hers that that would be impossible of course.

As Ninon walked through the living area toward the outer door with d'Artagnan, he paused;

"It's a beautiful place to live," he said, casting a last look around.

"I thought so," she replied. "But I'm not so sure now."

They stepped outside and she watched as d'Artagnan pulled on his helmet and swung a long leg over his bike, settling himself. He gave her a last grin before dropping the visor and then he turned on the engine, saluted her and was gone in a blast of exhaust fumes.

She stood watching him disappear, arms wrapped around herself.

Walking slowly back on board, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water, taking it to the nook in the corner.

Looking out of the small window, she watched a group of ducks for a few moments as the canal came to life.

This had been the worst night of her life.

Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped her hands over her face in frustration, before holding her wet palms up in front of her.

"Get a grip," she murmured to herself, taking a sip of water.

After a few minutes, she rose. She needed to lie next to Athos. To feel his warmth and watch him breathe.

She could not imagine how he would react to his ordeal. Later, they would talk and exorcise their demons.

And if last night was her worst, this new day would be her best.

oOo

Later, after Athos had slept most of the day away, they sat together on the upper deck, sipping coffee and watching the canal wind down. She couldn't stop looking at him, as he finished a call to Porthos, who had started ringing as soon as Aramis had told him what had happened. Luckily, Aramis had given them a few hours grace before their friend's onslaught began and she had gently fielded him until Athos was awake and settled.

"I have assured him that everything is working as it should be," Athos said.

"Everything?" Ninon smiled into her coffee cup.

"Well, we will find out tonight," he replied, his eyes on a sleek white boat passing by.

"That long?" she said.

He rolled his eyes and languidly stretched out his arm toward her. She took his hand and they sat in companionable silent for a while.

"So, where _is_ your safe?" Ninon asked, with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

Athos laughed. It was good to hear, and it made her smile.

"It's under my desk, built into the floor," he said. "The one in the bookcase is a distraction. Everything in it is fake. I told you when you first came here, I've taken every precaution."

"A very wise precaution," she agreed.

"You were very determined, for a man shot full of sedative," she added, quietly, blowing the steam away.

Athos huffed; they would have to talk about it, and now was as good a time as any.

"I made a mess of it," he replied, softly.

"No," Ninon replied, instantly. "That was a hell of a feat, dragging her off me. You saved my life. Aramis said Curare in the bloodstream is deadly. I really believe she was going to kill me."

"I did not recognise her," Athos said, his voice barely audible, eyes on distant memories.

"People aren't always what they seem. You and I both now that," she replied, squeezing his fingers.

He was silent for a long moment, before he turned to her;

"Now you know my dark secret."

"I'm glad. It's sad in a way."

"Don't pity her," Athos said, harshly, releasing her hand.

After a few moments of tense silence, Ninon spoke again.

"Anne must have burst a blood vessel when she saw those photographs of us, living such splendid lives," Ninon said quietly.

Rather than laugh, Athos grimaced.

"Time to let go, Athos," she said, gently laying her hand over his.

"Easier said than done," he murmured.

"She underestimated you," Ninon said.

Athos stared straight ahead.

"She always did," he said quietly, before shaking his head;

"I was terrified," he murmured, breathing out and shaking his head.

"It's understandable," she replied, looking at him worriedly.

"Not for me," he replied, turning in his chair to look at her. "For you. "I thought I may lose you," he added, his eyes shining.

"You know," she replied, "If we are to be together, I should know the story. She said she murdered your brother."

"Thomas's death is still an open case. Anne is wanted for questioning," Athos replied. "Porthos said that Aramis called the police last night but he also called Interpol.

"I'm aware you've stepped into my personal minefield," he added, with a heartfelt sigh.

"You stepped into mine," Ninon replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "We're even."

"You deserve better," he grunted.

"Oh, piffle," she laughed, lightly.

"Piffle?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"One of my grandmother's favourite words," she smiled. "Very sobering."

"I can imagine," he returned.

"I love you," she said, firmly.

He looked into her blue eyes.

"You've certainly seen the worst of me," he sighed.

"And the best," she insisted. "If we are to be together, you need to tell me about Anne."

Athos remained quiet, swirling the remaining coffee in his cup.

And then, quietly, he told her what he could.

He would never fully know what had happened between Anne and Thomas, nor why she had become the creature they saw the previous night.

"We can't stay here," she said, when he had finished. "Once she finds out that the stones are fake, she'll come back, won't she?"

"Probably," he muttered.

He reached for his phone and began to scroll through his photo files.

She thought he was avoiding further conversation, until he leant over and showed her his phone.

"How does Milan sound to you?" he asked quietly.

Surprised at the turn around, she took the phone and looked at the screen. There was an image of a beautiful villa, surrounded by tall Italian cypress trees.

"_Molto Bello_," she breathed.

"Family heirloom," he smiled. "Or, Geneva, if you prefer?"

"Italian food is wonderful," she said by way of reply.

"As is their wine," he nodded sagely.

"What about _Epiph__a__ny?_" she asked.

"I'll sign her over to Porthos," Athos replied. "He'll need a new base while he gets the Amsterdam arm of his business empire organised. Did you know Aramis has invited d'Artagnan to New York?" he added. "Apparently he was impressed by his "quiet efficiency." There are internships available that Aramis thinks would suit him."

"That's wonderful news. Aramis will be a good mentor," she said.

"Yes, he will. I've no doubt about it," Athos replied. "We haven't seen the last of that young man."

She leaned over and chinked coffee cups with him.

"To new beginnings," she said.

"To new beginnings," he agreed, holding her gaze.

"And," he added, "Anne be damned."

"Assolutamente," Ninon replied.

"Cosi sia," (Amen), Athos countered, as he leaned in to kiss her.

This really was, the best day.

oOo

**The End**


End file.
